All I Have Left
by DearestLizzie
Summary: Post-Jason death. Monroe tries to comfort Charlie. Starts with angst, eventual Charloe. Later chapters rated T for intimate scenes - not smut. SO MANY FEELS for this couple!
1. Chapter 1

All I Have Left

As cicadas chirped around her, Charlie sat against the trunk of an ancient willow, the soft sounds of the river soothing her in spite of the never-ending oppression of Texas' summer heat. Lost in thought, she barely noticed the rivulets of sweat running down her back or the way that her long, blond curls stuck to her neck. All she could think of was the look on Jason's face when she shot him. Charlie closed her eyes, a grimace of pain briefly contorting her face before she straightened her shoulders and whirled around to face whoever was creeping up on her.

"Relax, Charlotte," the disembodied voice said. "It's just me."

Charlie shook her head and leaned back against the tree. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she asked, scorn dripping from her voice. "I don't think you can ever be 'just me'."

Bass emerged from the darkness and stood next to her, his eyes on the river, his gun held loosely by his side. "What are you doing out here, Charlotte?" he asked, ignoring the insult. "You're a little too far from camp for safety."

"Are you my babysitter, now?" Charlie snapped, shoving to her feet and moving away from him.

"Miles was worried about you."

"If Miles was worried about me, you're the last person he'd send," she retorted, her lip curled in derision. "Try again."

Bass exhaled sharply and turned to look at her. "Fine," he admitted. "I was worried about you. What happened earlier . . ." He paused, his jaw clenched. "It's not something you could just get over. I thought you might need someone to watch your back."

Charlie gasped, an incredulous smile on her face. "Are you serious?" she exclaimed, rough laughter erupting from her chest. "I don't know what world you're living in, Monroe, but you're not exactly someone I trust. But maybe I need to spell it out for you." She walked up to him, crowding into his personal space, her eyes bright with fury. "I don't care what reparations you feel like you've made," Charlie spat. "You killed half my family, you kept my mother imprisoned for a decade, you deprived me of whatever happy life my parents could have given me and my brother in this absolutely fucked up post-apocalyptic world. I don't want you anywhere near me."

Bass stood silently under this onslaught, his eyes never leaving her face, his jaw tight. "Charlie, I know you don't want to hear this, but I understand what you're going . . ." Before he could even get the words out, Charlie's hand cracked across his face and suddenly she was shoving him away from her.

"Don't you dare tell me that you understand!" she screamed, her eyes bright with tears. "You don't know anything about me or what I feel! My father, my friends have died in my arms, my brother . . ." Charlie broke off with a sob and pressed a shaking hand to her lips. "My little brother was killed right in front of me. And I could blame all of that on you." Charlie was sobbing in earnest now, her breath grating harshly in her throat. "But tonight I killed someone that I . . . cared about. I _shot_ him and he wasn't some nameless, faceless enemy. He was _Jason_." Charlie turned away from him, her shoulders hunched as if to shield herself from pain. "So please don't tell me that you understand," she repeated in a trembling voice. "You'd have to feel something to do that."

A hard hand was suddenly on her shoulder and she was whirled around to face a coldly furious Monroe. "That's right, Charlie," he snarled. "It _was_ all my fault. The death, the hatred, the misery, your ruined life. Everything is on my shoulders. Do you think that I don't live with that every day?" He released her and stepped back, shoving a hand through his blond curls. "And on top of all that, I have to wake up every morning to the knowledge that my son's mother is dead because of me. She was the first woman I ever loved and my obsession got her killed. You were there. You saw. Emma died in _my _arms." Bass swallowed heavily, his voice softening and he stepped closer to the trembling woman. "I might not be the person you'd choose, but I _do _know what you're going through. And, as much of a bastard as I am, this isn't something that you should try to deal with on your own."

Charlie stood stone-still, eyes on his and arms folded across her stomach; a tear trickled down her cheek. She reached up to brush it away and snapped back to herself. "You don't get it," she told him, her voice rough with emotion. "I don't want your help and I don't want your sympathy. If I take comfort from you, I'll lose everything."

"Charlie, what are you talking about?" Bass exclaimed, confusion clearly written on his face. He moved towards her, his hand outstretched, and halted when she stiffened.

"I've killed, stolen, lied. I've become someone I don't recognize anymore," Charlie admitted softly. "And I've justified all of it because I was going after you. My hatred for you made everything that I've done right." She tried to laugh though it sounded more like a sob. "And now you're standing here offering me a shoulder to cry on." She shook her head, unnoticed tears leaving glistening trails on her cheeks. "I can't lose that hate," she told him, her voice trembling. "It's all I have left. If I forget why I became what I am, I'll just be a monster. Like you."

Bass's head snapped back as though she had struck him. "I see," he whispered eventually, nodding slowly. "Alright, Charlie," he told her, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "God knows the world doesn't need any more monsters." Charlie flinched and half turned away from him, staring blindly at the river.

"Don't stay out here too long," Bass murmured as he walked away. Charlie stood, her back to him, until his soft footsteps faded into the darkness. Her face crumpled and she stumbled back to the tree, her hand reaching out to find support. She muffled her choking sobs against her arm and mourned – for Jason, for herself. And for what she had just sent away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Charlie lay huddled on her bedroll, her eyes dry and staring unseeing into the receding darkness of the dawn. She had finally made her way back to camp after getting herself under control but sleep had eluded her. The conversation with Ba . . . with Monroe kept replaying in her mind. She had been right in what she said. Charlie was sure of that. She couldn't afford to let herself _feel_ anything for the man, for the one person who could be held responsible for everything she had lost – her family, her home, her very innocence. And yet she could not forget the look of pain on his face when she had rejected his help. That hint of vulnerability went against everything she knew to be true about Monroe. Charlie sighed softly and forced herself to sit up. If she couldn't sleep she might as well try to do something useful.

Making her way over to the campfire, she began measuring out the last of the group's dried oats to make breakfast. The mundane task allowed her to focus on something other than thoughts of Jason or Monroe. Soon the water in the pot was boiling and Charlie slowly poured the oats in, adding a handful of dried fruit to the bubbling mixture. They had managed to find a little coffee in the knapsack of an unfortunate Patriot who had crossed their path and Charlie set that to boil as well. Soon the scent of oatmeal and coffee was wafting through the camp and people began to rouse. Rachel gently smoothed a hand over Charlie's tangled hair and Miles gripped her shoulder tightly as she ladled out his oatmeal, but neither of them said anything to her about Jason. Really, there was nothing to say and Charlie knew that. Eventually everyone was sitting around the fire eating. Everyone, Charlie noticed, except Monroe.

"Where's your dad, kid?" Miles asked Connor, his eyes sweeping the camp's perimeter.

"No idea," Connor replied shortly. "He said he was going to make a sweep last night and didn't come back."

"What the hell, Connor!" Miles exclaimed, swiftly rising to his feet. "He's been gone all night and you never thought to tell me?"

"What are you getting so worked up about, Matheson?" Connor snapped. "He can take care of himself. And if he wanted to leave, nothing would stop him."

"You really are a little prick, aren't you?" Miles asked almost conversationally as he grabbed his gun and cartridge belt. "No one knows better than I do that Bass can take care of himself, but being gone all night might make even me a little nervous about whether he's alright."

"I'm fine, Miles." Everyone turned to see Monroe emerge from the woods at the north end of the camp, the carcass of a deer dragging behind him. "I knew we were running short on supplies and thought I'd catch us some meat." He left the deer by the fire, his eyes studiously avoiding Charlie as he bent and helped himself to the last of the coffee. "Though I do appreciate your concern."

"Shit, Bass," Miles sighed as he sat back down. "Would you please let me know the next time you're going to take off for hours on end? Just for the sake of my sanity."

"No problem, brother," Bass replied easily as he sat next to Miles. "We need to get that deer field dressed as soon as we can. This place is going to be swarming with Patriots before we know it."

"I'll do it," Charlie said quietly, rising and gripping the rope. Connor moved to help her but she glared at him and he sat back down. She slowly dragged the carcass to a tree with a low hanging branch and, tossing the rope over, pulled it up and began to dress the deer.

Miles glanced over at Rachel and sighed deeply as his eyes returned to his niece. "She's taking this hard," he said quietly.

"No other way to take it," Bass replied as he closely studied the contents of his coffee cup. "She killed someone she cared about. She won't get over that."

"I know that, Bass," Miles snapped. "But she can't afford to fall apart right now. Her life, and ours, depend on all of use staying sharp." He ran a weary hand over his face. "Believe me, I feel like an ass saying this. Charlie shouldn't have to be dealing with this right now. She should have time to mourn. But that's for when we're safe."

"Since when did you become so concerned about Charlie?" Connor asked suspiciously, his eyes sharp on his father. "She's not exactly your biggest fan. And vice versa." His face tightened. "Or is this something more than concern? I seem to remember Charlie being gone last night at the same time you were."

"That's enough!" Miles ground out, rising sharply to his feet. "Not one more word, or I rip your tongue out."

"Take it easy, Miles," Bass warned, even while glaring at his son.

"Oh, please," Connor scoffed as he stood. "Are you going to tell me that you haven't noticed how he watches her? Or how he's never far from her side?" His lip curled in disgust. "A man old enough to be her father."

Before Miles could reach him, Bass was there, fury in his eyes as he twisted his fingers in his son's shirt. "That enough," he ground out. "Not one more word."

"Oh, sorry, _Dad_," Connor snarled. "I guess I find it a little weird when my father seems to have the hots for the girl I'm sleeping with."

The camp was deathly silent, the only sound Bass's harsh breathing as he struggled with the impulse to strike his son. He finally managed to control himself and slowly uncurled his fingers from the fabric around his son's throat. "You've said enough, Connor," he told him. "Too much."

"Yes, he has," a voice intoned from beyond the group. Everyone turned to see Charlie standing on the edge of the camp, a bloody field knife in her hand.

"Charlie," Connor began, but she cut him off. "Don't bother, Connor," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "I won't be used by you in whatever argument you have with your father." Her eyes darted to meet Monroe's and then went back to glaring at Connor. "And don't worry about who might or might not have the hots for me. That's none of your business anymore."

"But I was just trying to . . ."

"I don't care what you were trying to do, Connor," she snapped, angry color flooding her cheeks. "What I do and who I do it with is no one's business but you just decided to announce one of my biggest mistakes in front of my family." Connor flushed darkly at the implied insult and had moved as if to say something. Charlie raised her hand to cut him off and slowly approached him. She stopped next to Monroe, her eyes never leaving Connor's face. "I won't be used, Connor, by you or anyone else. Not for sex, not for revenge, and not for getting a pound of flesh from dear old Dad. So from now on, you just keep your distance, understand?" She turned, not giving him a chance to answer, picked up an empty saddlebag and walked back over to the deer carcass.

Miles smiled grimly at his niece and turned back to Connor. "Like I said," he smirked at the boy, "a little prick."

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The group struck camp and remounted their horses, heading West and away from the main body of the Patriot forces. Charlie volunteered to ride point, a duty that allowed her to be blessedly alone and away from the concerned looks of Rachel, Miles, and Gene, the angry sullenness of Connor, and the stoic silence of Monroe. Charlie huffed out a silent laugh. Connor. What a mistake he had been. She passed a weary hand over her face and shook her head at her own folly. What had she been thinking? Alright, if she was being honest . . . She cut herself off. No. This was not the time to go into the whys and wherefores of sleeping with Connor. She had enough to deal with at the moment and . . .

The crack of a rifle broke through Charlie's reverie and she jerked her head around in the direction of the shot. Her eyes widened when she saw a mounted Patriot scouting party rapidly approaching and her mind scrambled to figure out her options. As she quickly scanned her surroundings, her eyes fell on a large fallen tree, its limbs bare of leaves and its trunk partially hollowed. Not idea, Charlie acknowledged as she spurred her horse into a gallop, but better than nothing. She reined in her horse and flung herself from the saddle even before her mount had stopped, looping the reins over a broken limb, taking refuge behind the tree trunk and resting her cross bow on top. She checked her quiver and swore silently. There had been no time to make new arrows and she was down to her last ten shafts. There were at least fifteen men in the scouting party. If Miles and the rest of the group didn't get there soon, she was screwed.

The Patriot group halted about twenty yards from her refuge and one rider separated from the group and rode a little closer.

"That's close enough!" Charlie shouted, her finger resting lightly on the crossbow's trigger.

The rider reined in and rested an arm on his pommel. "I'm Captain John Mason of the United States Army," he hollered to her. "Identify yourself."

"Don't know that I will," Charlie answered, grinning in spite of herself. "Don't feel the need to be making any new friends today."

The Patriot leader shook his head. Texans. God Himself couldn't get those stiff-necked bastards to cooperate. "We're looking for a group of terrorists," he informed her. "Four men and two women. Guilty of attacks against innocent civilians and the government of the United States. Have you seen any other riders today?"

"Can't say that I have," Charlie shouted back.

She watched as one of the other Patriots broke from the group and whispered something to the Captain. The group leader's head whipped around and Charlotte saw his gaze rest on her horse. Shit. He gestured to his men and they began to spread out in a line in front of her.

"Where'd you get that horse?" the Captain asked, his hand moving to rest on his sidearm.

"Found it," Charlie replied shortly, her body tense in anticipation of what was sure to come.

"Is that a fact?" he asked almost conversationally. "Because one of those terrorists I mentioned was riding a horse that fit that animal's description. Tall, dapple grey, distinctive patch on the right flank." He leaned forward in his saddle, peering closely at the horse. "Same tack, too." The Captain shook his head almost mournfully. "Yes, the Colonel was real upset when he found out his favorite mount had been taken." He paused and glanced behind him to check the position of his men. "We both know you're not getting out of here, Miss Matheson. Why don't you come out and make this a whole lot easier on yourself."

Charlie sighed deeply and briefly rested her head on her crossbow. Dear God, she was getting tired of killing. But if it came down to a choice between her life or theirs, she'd choose hers every time. She raised her head and looked back at the Captain. "Nope," she replied simply, then raised up and let the first shaft fly. The Captain was thrown back and reeled in his saddle with the arrow struck him in the upper chest. Charlie had the crossbow reloaded and ready as the Patriots began to return fire. She could only pray that the sound of the shots would bring the others before she ran out of ammunition.

**AN: A huge thank you to the readers who have followed or favorited my story and special thanks to the two readers who took the time to leave a review. I'm so glad that you all like what I've written so far! Here is the next installment. I'm going to try to post updates as frequently as possible, but I'm in school and things are a bit busy right now. I promise I'll do my best! Thanks again!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Charlie was vaguely conscious of muffled voices as she tried to find her way through a haze of pain. God, what had happened? The memory was there, she knew it was, but it was somehow just out of reach. She shifted and groaned as a sudden, blinding shaft of pain shot through her body. The voices abruptly ceased and a rough hand jerked her chin up.

"She's coming around," the disembodied voice said grimly. It was vaguely familiar but Charlie couldn't force herself to remember where she had heard it before. "Get her up, secure her to the chair."

Charlie couldn't stifle a cry of pain as she was dragged upright and hauled over to a chair, her feet trailing and her head hanging limply on her neck. She felt herself being thrust onto a hard, rough wooden chair and her arms were jerked behind her back and tied to the support rungs. She could feel consciousness slipping away again and blessed darkness beckoned.

"Dammit, don't let her pass out again! Wake her up!"

Charlie gasped as icy water was thrown in her face and she forced herself to open her eyes to confront her attackers.

"And there she is," the voice said. Charlie blinked several times in an attempt to clear her vision and saw herself peering into the visage of Captain Mason. "Shit," she slurred. "You're not dead."

Mason's face tightened in annoyance. "Not for lack of trying on your part, Matheson," he gritted out. "Fortunately, our field surgeon was able to get your arrow out and patch me up."

Charlie noticed how he held himself rigidly, as if any movement might be painful, and she forced herself to grin. "Maybe next time."

Mason chuckled and the sound sent chills down Charlie's back. "Oh, I'm afraid one chance is all you get," he said smoothly. "And that same skilled doctor who kept me alive to oversee your questioning is going to make sure that you stay alive long enough to make this extremely enjoyable." He grinned and shrugged. "At least for me."

Charlie felt her stomach clench at his words, though she kept her face blank. "Get your jollies however you need, Mason," Charlie replied calmly. "But I'm afraid that this is going to be a real disappointing experience for you."

Mason suddenly lunged and jammed his thumb into her shoulder. Charlie's back bowed as lightning-hot pain knifed through her body. She wanted to scream, oh God, she wanted to scream, but her throat was locked and all she could do was writhe against the bonds that held her captive. Suddenly the pain was gone and she fell forward, the room filled with the sound of her ragged gasps. A hand grasped her hair and roughly jerked her head back. Charlie clenched her teeth together and swallowed heavily, refusing to give into the urge to vomit in the aftermath of her torment.

"Now, Miss Matheson," Mason said almost genially as he sat in a chair directly across from her, so close his knees were just touching hers. "In addition to the wound in your shoulder, you also have one in your thigh," he slapped her left leg and she hissed sharply, her eyes tightly shut, "and we can always introduce new ones if these don't prove to be sufficient." He waited until her eyes were open and gestured to one of his men. A soldier appeared and set a low table next to Mason, on top of which an array of knives, pincers, and needles were meticulously arranged.

"But all of this unpleasantness can be avoided," he assured her. "All you need to do is tell us where to find one person."

"One person?" Charlie rasped, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Earlier you said you were looking for six."

"Well, I'm not greedy, Miss Matheson," Mason replied. "And I'm not stupid. I know the likelihood of your giving up any information on your uncle or your mother is very low." He leaned forward, his eyes sharp on her face. "All I want is for you to give me a man who you must hate as much as we do. All I want is Sebastian Monroe."

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Miles and Bass lay flat on the rise overlooking the Patriot camp, their eyes trained on the barbed-wire enclosed tents as they searched for any sign of where Charlie might be held. Miles peered through the field glasses, his eyes straining as if he could see through the tent walls. "What are they doing to her, Bass?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper in the darkness.

Bass stiffened beside him but otherwise didn't move. "Don't think about it," he advised flatly. "You think about it, you take your eye off the ball. That gets us dead. Her, too." Suddenly he shifted, nudging Miles with his shoulder. "There," he said, gesturing to a tent in the center of the encampment. "Look at the security they have on that one. And," he added as the tent disgorged several officers and their lackeys, "brass wouldn't be in there if it wasn't something important."

"How the hell are we going to get to her?" Miles growled as he scanned the security measure the Patriots had in place.

"We'll need a distraction," Bass replied. "Take all the attention to the front gate while someone makes their way around the back of the camp over there." He gestured to the back of the camp, which, unwisely, the Patriots had placed near a somewhat sparse link of poplars. "Not a whole lot of cover, but we've worked with worse. Provided she isn't hurt too badly, we can be in and out in under ninety seconds."

"Don't get cocky, damn you," Miles snapped as he turned furious eyes to the other man.

"I'm not being cocky, Miles," Bass replied coldly. "Believe me, I want to get her out of there as badly as you do. And I'm willing to do just about anything to do it. So just cool off and start thinking."

Miles exhaled and rolled to his back, passing a weary hand over his haggard face. "Alright," he finally said. "Any ideas?"

"A couple," Bass replied, returning his gaze to the tent that held Charlie. "I'm not real thrilled with any of them but our options are pretty limited."

"At this point, I'm willing to listen to anything," Miles admitted wryly. "Let's get back to the others and you can lay them out for us."

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"We're not going to get anything out of her now," an angry voice declared. "Mason and the others are gone and I could use a break myself."

Charlie's head was roughly jerked back and she couldn't even find the strength to moan. "You're right," another voice agreed. "She's not going anywhere. We can take a fresh run at her after . . ." A deafening explosion rocked through the camp followed closely by rapid gunfire. Charlie heard feet pounding as the tent emptied and she was left blessedly alone. She was just about to allow herself to slip into welcome unconsciousness when urgent hands began to work at the knots binding her wrists.

"No," she moaned, 'damn you, I . . . won't . . ."

Charlie, it's me," a familiar voice hissed. ""We have to move fast. How badly are you hurt?"

"Bass!" Charlie gasped. "You . . . no . . . you have to. . . . get out!" She struggled weakly and muffled a cry at the shafts of pain that shot through her body. "Dammit, _go_!"

"We're both getting out of here," Bass told her as his fingers fought against the knots at her wrists. "Now tell me where you're hurt, dammit!"

"Shot in . . . my shoulder and . . . leg," Charlie gasped as her hands were finally freed and she would have slumped to the floor if Bass hadn't caught her as she fell. He slung her uninjured arm over his shoulder and wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her firmly to his side. Her head lolled onto his shoulder and she could have wept at the unexpected comfort she found there.

"I know that all you want to do is pass out, Charlie," Bass whispered as he half-dragged, half-carried her towards the opening he had cut in the back wall of the tent. "But stay with me for a little longer, OK? I'll have you to your mom and Miles in no time."

Charlie drew on every reserve of strength she had a lifted her head from Bass's shoulder. She put as much weight on her injured leg as she could, her breath hissing out between clenched teeth. "Let's go," she replied, her voice faint but firm. "Good girl," Bass told her and squeezed her hand. "Hold on."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, beyond the overwhelming sensations of pain and a desire to just close her eyes and let go, Charlie knew that Bass was trying his best not to hurt her. Every step was torture and she bit her lip to keep from crying out, tasting blood. "Not much farther, Charlie," Bass whispered encouragingly, as if he knew what she was feeling. "You'll be safe before you know it and then you can let go."

Charlie held on to that promise over the interminable minutes that followed. She could never remember exactly how they got away from the Patriot camp. Everything passed in a blur of agony, of darkness, gasped breaths and stumbling feet. And through it all, the memory of Bass's arm banded around her like steel, keeping her firmly pressed to his side. What could have been minutes or hours later, she heard Bass's hoarse voice calling for her grandfather. Gentle hands took her from Bass and she heard Gene frantically repeating her name. She was safe. And finally, finally, she let the blackness take her.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Gene rested his forehead against his hand, the knife blade glowing red in his grip. "Monroe," he said, his voice steady, "You're going to have to hold her." When there was no response from the other man, the doctor raised his head. Bass was sitting next to a prone Charlie, his jaw clenched as he glared at the ground. "Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, old man, I heard you," Bass responded, still apparently fascinated with the parched earth beneath him. He finally raised his eyes to look at the older man and Gene found himself drawing back from the rage he saw in them. "You'd better be fast, damn you," he growled. "She's been through enough."

"Don't tell me what she's been through, Monroe," Gene spat, his face contorted in fury. "Everything she's had to endure has been because of you. I wish to God I could wait for Rachel to get back, or Miles. Hell, even Connor would be better than having to rely on you." He scoffed, his eyes raking over Monroe, derision on his face. "But you're what I've got and she needs those bullets out _now_. So just hold her down, Monroe, and let me worry about the rest."

Bass had paled at Gene's attack but kept his mouth shut. He honestly couldn't argue with him, he thought. He moved to face Charlie and regret rippled through him. He secured her injured arm across her stomach and placed the majority of his weight on her opposite shoulder. Charlie stirred and Bass held his breath, praying that she remained unconscious. But this prayer was destined to remained unanswered. Charlie's eyes fluttered open and Bass could see her confusion as she took in their respective positions.

"Monroe, what . . . what the hell . . ." she croaked as she tried to move away from him.

"Calm down, sweetheart," Gene soothed from the other side as he placed a calming hand on her forehead. "It's alright, you're safe."

"Grandpa," Charlie breathed, her eyes sliding shut. "Where are Mom and Miles?"

"They're on their way back," Gene replied, his voice betraying none of the concern he felt. "Charlie, you've got two bullets in you. They have to come out and Monroe is going to make sure you don't move, alright?"

What little color Charlie had in her cheeks fled at his words but she pressed her lips together and nodded. "I'll try to be quiet."

"Here, Charlie," Bass murmured, offering her the sleeve of his discarded leather jacket. "Bite on this."

Charlie closed her teeth over the smooth leather, braced herself, and nodded to her grandfather. Any illusions she might have had about bearing with the pain dissolved at the first incision. Her body tried to arch from the ground but she was held in place by the solid strength of Bass. She couldn't help the choked sobs that erupted from her, muffled though they were by the leather clenched within her mouth, and Gene muttered half-formed pleas that she would simply pass out.

Bass' jaw was clenched tight as he pressed his weight across the struggling girl. Without even realizing it, he had pressed his forehead against her temple as if trying to absorb some of her suffering. As Gene dug deeper, finding the bullet, Charlie abruptly went still. Gene frantically checked her pulse and gasped in relief. "Thank God," he murmured as he returned to her wound. "She fainted."

Bass released a breath he hadn't even known he had been holding and loosened his grip on Charlie's shoulder. "Don't get up," Gene snapped as he continued to probe the wound. "If she comes around again, she's going to buck. Ah!" he exclaimed, removing the rudimentary tweezers in which he clasped the bullet. The doctor quickly sutured the wound and bandaged it, wrapping it tightly before moving to Charlie's leg. "This one went through," Gene said with a grateful sigh. "It's going to hurt like hell but she should heal up just fine."

Bass slowly levered himself off of Charlie and gently smoothed her hair from her face. His eyes narrowed with rage as he took in the various bruises and contusions that littered her cheeks, forehead, and nose, evidence of the persistence of the Patriot interrogators. "What about the rest?" he asked, his voice tight with concern. "Just look at her face, Porter."

"I know," Gene replied as he finished wrapping his granddaughter's leg. "Move up near her head. I'm going to check her ribs and if she wakes up, she'll need to be kept still."

Bass moved to sit near Charlie's head and placed his hands on her upper arms, careful to avoid the thick bandage on her shoulder. Gene gently pushed the hem of Charlie's tank top up and his breath hissed out between his teeth. "Dear God," he gasped, tears in his eyes. "Oh, Charlie."

Bass steeled himself and tore his eyes from Charlie's still face to see what had prompted such a reaction from Gene. He felt the heat rise in his face as rage coursed through him. Charlie's torso, covered now only by her bra, was crisscrossed with shallow cuts, heavy purple bruises, and even, _dear God_, what looked like cigarette burns. Gene pressed trembling hands over Charlie's ribs and Bass tensed as she groaned, preparing to hold her still, but, thankfully, she remained unconscious.

"Definitely a couple of broken ribs," Gene told him. "Go grab my saddlebags. I have some bandages we can use bind them. Nothing else we can do about that. And there is some salve in there for the burns, too."

Bass was just heading back to Gene when he heard hoof beats rapidly approaching the camp. He dropped the saddlebag and snatched up his rifle, kneeling as he faced the incoming threat. The riders reined in sharply, their mounts sliding to a halt on their haunches, and two figures threw themselves from the saddles. "Bass!" Miles shouted, his hands in the air, "it's us!"

"Miles, where in the hell have you been?" Bass exclaimed as he rose and moved to meet them. "Gene's patching Charlie up and . . ." His eyes traveled from Miles to Rachel and searched the darkness for the person he wanted to see the most. "Miles?" he said, a quiver in his voice as he silently asked the question he couldn't bring himself to utter.

Miles slowly walked up to Bass and put a hand on his shoulder. "Bass, I'm so sorry," he murmured. "But Connor . . . Brother, he didn't make it."

Bass felt his breath catch and he held himself rigid as the words sank in. "What . . ." he began, finding his throat suddenly dry and fighting to get the words out. "What happened? Where's my son?"

"He had . . . placed one of the charges near the main gate," Miles said slowly, his hand gripping Bass' shoulder tightly. "And he was running to take cover when the charge went off early. The blast didn't catch him but the fire . . . it revealed his position to the Patriots and the sentries . . . they shot him before he could get to us."

Bass seemed carved from stone as he stood and listened to Miles' halting description of his son's death. Long moments passed before Bass could manage to speak. "Where. Is. My. Son."

"We brought him back," Rachel said quietly. "Connor is on his horse. We . . . wouldn't leave him there, Bass."

Bass moved woodenly to where the three horses stood, sides heaving, just within the circle of the firelight. He seemed to stumble when he caught sight of the blanket-wrapped form draped across the tall bay's back but straightened and made his way over to Connor's side. He reached out a trembling hand and pulled the blanket to the side, revealing a dark, curly mop of hair that stirred briefly in the warm Texas breeze. Bass slowly placed his hand on his son's head and, in a gesture he never would have made had Connor been alive, caressed the soft curls.

**AN: I know this was kind of a bummer way to end the chapter but it'll make sense in the end. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this newest development! A HUGE thank you to those of you who have read, followed, favorited, and/or commented on my story. All of that definitely keeps me going. You all are fantastic and I really appreciate the interest!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Charlie was lost in a red sea of pain, torment ripping through her body. She fought for consciousness , fought for an escape from the emptiness of her suffering. Slowly, so slowly, she found the strength to open her eyes only to be met with oppressive darkness. Her breathing began to speed up, hitching in her throat, as she fought off panic. "Mom," she whispered, hoping against hope that someone was there. She heard faint sounds of movement and suddenly Rachel was at her side, a lit camp lantern in one hand, a small water-filled cooking pot in the other.

"Oh, thank God," her mother murmured, reaching out to smooth a damp cloth across her daughter's brow. "Charlie, honey, I'm right here."

"Mom, what happened?" Charlie asked as she passed her tongue over dry, cracked lips. "Where are we? Why is it so dark?"

"We've been camping here since Monroe got you out of the Patriot camp. Miles and your grandfather set a false trail for them to follow and they've been chasing their tails ever since. They struck camp and headed South the morning after you were rescued. We dug in here to provide shelter and a hiding place in case they came back. You're in no condition to travel and Monroe . . ." Rachel broke off and hoped that her daughter wouldn't notice. "I'll go get your grandfather," she continued quickly as she moved to crawl to the entrance to their tiny, low ceilinged refuge. "He's been sitting with you for the last two days and we finally convinced him to stretch his legs. I'll be right back."

"Wait."

Rachel stopped short and looked over her shoulder. "What is it, honey? Are you in pain?"

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Charlie, let me get your grandfather, he'll check you over and then we'll talk, OK?

Charlie's eyes scanned her mother's face and recognized the look that Rachel always had when she had dug her feet in. "Alright, Mom," she agreed softly. "Go get Grandpa."

Rachel had only been gone a moment when Charlie head the soft sounds of hands and knees scrambling in the soft earth of the dugout's floor. "Charlie!" Miles exclaimed as he reached her side, his eyes tracing her features in the dim, flickering light of the lantern. "How are you feeling, kid?" he asked gruffly, his eyes suspiciously bright.

"I've been better," Charlie admitted, wincing as she tried to move. "How long have I been out?"

"Almost two days, Charlie," he told her, slipping a supporting arm behind her back. "Don't try to move too much, kid," he warned her. "You have stitches in your shoulder and a couple of cracked ribs. Gene said you were to stay as still as possible."

"I don't see that being a problem," Charlie replied in a voice rough with pain. She closed her eyes and rested against her uncle's arm.

"What the hell did they do to you, Charlie?" Miles murmured as he passed a gentle hand over her hair.

"Talking about it won't change anything, Miles," Charlie replied, avoiding a direct answer.

"No, it won't" he agreed stonily. "But when I find those bastards, they're going to pay for every mark they put on you and it's going to be in ways they couldn't possibly imagine. I promise." Miles took a deep breath to collect himself and looked back down at the pale, bruised face of his niece. "Tell me, Charlie. Please."

"Honestly, Miles, I don't remember a lot of it," Charlie admitted softly. "I remember waking up in a tent. There was a Captain." Her brow wrinkled as she tried to sift through the confusion jumble of sounds and images associated with her captivity. "Mason," she said slowly, carefully. "Captain Mason. They . . . wanted to know where the camp was. I wouldn't tell them." Charlie swallowed heavily and gave a tiny jerk of her head. "That's it."

"Bullshit, Charlie," Miles replied calmly. "You've given me the 'why'. At least part of it. I want to know that 'what'. And more importantly, I want to know who hurt you."

"I don't remember, Miles," Charlie insisted, her voice cracking. "And as long as we're calling 'bullshit', I want to know what Mom has been keeping from me. Something's wrong and she won't tell me."

Gene entered the dugout before Miles could answer. "The patient is awake!" he declared with false cheerfulness. "Miles, why don't you wait outside with Rachel while I examine Charlie?"

Miles hesitated for just a moment, but then slid past Gene to make his way to the dugout door. "Sure, Gene," he said. "We'll be right outside. Let us know when you're done."

Gene waited until Miles had left before he turned back to his granddaughter. "How are you feeling, kiddo?" he asked as he gently probed her ribs.

Charlie hissed when he hit a particularly tender spot. "Better," she replied, "though that's not saying much."

The examination was over as quickly as her grandfather could manage it and he was able to assure Charlie that, in spite of the fact that she both looked and felt as though she had been beaten half to death, she was healing well and that there was no sign of infection in her bullet wounds. As he moved to leave her, Charlie reached out and caught his arm. "Grandpa, I need to get out of here. Please, help me."

"Charlie, I don't know if that's such a great idea."

"Please," Charlie repeated, almost begging. "I feel like I've been in the dark for so long . . ." She broke off and gripped his arm tighter. "I can't stay in here."

Gene studied her carefully for a long moment and then sighed. "Alright," he agreed, "but you don't stay out long, you sit quietly, and you come back in when I tell you to. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Miles and Rachel helped Gene lead Charlie out of the dugout and into the blinding light of the mid-day sun. Charlie, pale, clammy and gasping from pain and exertion, lifted her face to the sky and soaked up the soothing warmth. Rachel spread out a blanket and stacked the others on one end, providing Charlie with a comfortable place to rest while Gene and Miles supported her on either side as she slowly made her way to her "bed". Charlie lay back with a sigh and rested back against the blankets. "Thank you," she murmured, slight color coming back into her cheeks.

"Not too long, Charlie," Rachel reminded her as she sat next to her daughter. "We've been staying pretty close to the dugout the past couple of days just in case the Patriots come back. We don't want to have to rush you back in there if they happen to find us."

"How in the hell have six people fit in that little dugout?" Charlie asked, her eyes closed and a smile curving her lips. "It just doesn't seem possible."

The uncomfortable silence that greeter her question forced her eyes to pop open and she peered at the carefully averted faces of her mother, uncle, and grandfather. "Alright, this is where we left off, Miles," Charlie told him forcefully. "What are you three not telling me?" Her eyes suddenly widened and her hands clenched convulsively on the blanket beneath her. "Where are Connor and Monroe? Miles, tell me!"

Rachel and Miles exchanged worried glances while Gene stared off into the distance. "Charlie," Rachel began, "I don't think this is the time to go into all of that. You've only just . . ."

"Tell her, Rachel," Gene said softly. "She's just going to get worked up and that's the last thing she needs right now. You'll have to tell her eventually and the waiting won't make it any easier."

Rachel covered her face with her hands for a moment and then raised her head, one hand reaching out to grasp her daughter's; she stared, unseeing, at their interwoven fingers and began to talk. "Miles, Connor and I created a diversion at the Patriot camp so that Bass could sneak in and get you out. Even though we had to get the equipment ready quickly, we thought we had everything under control. Bass made his way to the rear of the camp and, after enough time had passed for him to be in position, the three of us set explosive charges at three separate spots along the front of their perimeter. We were running back to meet up just out of sight of the sentries when . . . when Connor's charge blew too early. The light from the fire was so bright and the Patriots . . ."

Charlie's hand twitched under her mother's and Rachel's eyes sought her face. Charlie's eyes were huge and every bit of color had been leeched from her face. "Connor's dead?" she whispered brokenly. "Oh, my God." She slumped back against the cushion of blankets and turned her face away from her family.

"There was nothing we could do, Charlie," Miles told her as he moved closer to his niece. "He was dead before he fell. But we couldn't just leave him there. The Patriots were too busy to bother him, so we waited until the fires burned down and managed to retrieve his body."

Charlie's head whipped around, her eyes seeking her uncle. "Where's Bass?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer. "He left, didn't he."

"No, he didn't leave," Gene replied. "He's with Connor. He hasn't left the boy's grave since we buried him the night it happened."

"Where is he?"

Gene nodded back behind them. "Down behind this ridge," he told her. "We couldn't risk burying him on high ground and at least Monroe is somewhat hidden down there."

Charlie painfully pushed herself to sit fully upright, a grimace twisting her features. "I need to see him."

"Charlie, I don't think that's such a good idea," Miles objected forcefully. "You can barely move and he . . . No," he stated, shaking his head. "Absolutely not."

"Miles, I'm going to see him," Charlie insisted, her voice hard. "You can help me or not. Up to you. Either way, I'm not going to change my mind."

Rachel squeezed her daughter's hand and looked over at Miles. "Take her down, Miles," she said softly.

BCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBC

Miles' and Charlie's progress was painfully slow and Charlie felt as though she had been put through a wringer by the time they made their way down the shallow ridge behind the dugout. Charlie scanned the terrain and jerked to a stop when she saw the lone figure sitting beside a long, newly-turned mound of earth.

"Stay here, Miles," Charlie murmured. Miles began to object but Charlie shook her head, her eyes never leaving Bass' hunched form. "I'll be fine, I promise. Just stay here."

Miles stood ramrod-straight as he watched Charlie make her way to the grave, her gait uneven, her posture rigid as she fought against the pain of her injuries. He'd respect her wishes . . . to a point. If Bass, in his anger and grief over his son, made one move to harm her, Miles wasn't willing to answer for his actions.

Monroe stiffened as he heard her approaching but otherwise made no move to confront whoever was intruding on his vigil. "Leave," he growled, his gaze firmly fixed on his son's grave.

"Bass."

He didn't even turn to look at her. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice flat and cold.

"I just heard about Connor," Charlie replied, her voice soft with sorrow.

"Yeah?"

"I wanted to come down here and . . ." Charlie stopped and shrugged her shoulders helplessly, wincing at the resulting pain. "Just tell you that I'm sorry."

Long moments passed in dreadful silence until Monroe finally rose and faced her. Charlie took a step back, shocked. This was the Sebastian Monroe she had first known – his eyes cold, flat, devoid of emotion. He held himself rigidly in check, though she thought she saw a tremor pass over his unyielding features. "You're sorry?" he whispered. "Why, exactly, are you sorry, Charlotte?" Monroe took a step towards her, eyebrows raised. "It certainly can't be because of Connor himself. Didn't you just recently call him 'one of my biggest mistakes'? People generally don't mourn the passing of someone like that, do they?" Charlie moved as though to answer but he cut her off. "And such sympathy couldn't possibly be for me. Because I don't feel. You said so yourself. There's no way that I could understand someone else's loss because I'm a monster. Monsters don't have emotions, they don't feel pity or loss." Monroe spread his arms wide, his eyes hard on her face. "This should be a big day for you," he declared bitterly, his voice increasing in volume as he stepped even closer to her. "Not only is my son dead, but he died carrying out _my _plan. The plan I came up with to save _you_. This is justice, right?"

Miles had started running towards them as soon as Monroe had risen and now pushed himself between the two. "That's enough, Bass," he commanded as he moved to shield his niece, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

"Don't, Miles," Charlie told him, her eyes never leaving Monroe's face. "Let him talk."

Monroe kept right on going, walking towards Charlie until his shoulder was flush with Miles'. "Isn't this justice?" he repeated bitterly. "I killed your father and brother, took away your family. And now I'm responsible for the death of my son. The only family I had is gone. So take a good look, Charlotte," he barked. "This is what you've been hoping for. I'm standing in front of you with absolutely nothing left. Except for my own life. And I'm not giving that up, sweetheart. Not until they've given up theirs." Monroe stood there, his eyes boring into hers, until finally he turned and walked back to Connor's grave. The rage seemed to leave him and he, who always moved with such grace and confidence, almost collapsed back to the ground.

"Keep your sympathy," he said coldly. "The only thing I want from your little group is help to track those Patriots down. Other than that, we don't know each other."

Charlie stood as though rooted to the ground until Miles touched her gently on the arm and began to lead her away. Before passing the crest of the ridge to return to camp, Charlie turned back and saw Sebastian Monroe, the terror of the Republic and the most hated enemy of the new United States, reach out and rest a gentle hand on the mound of earth blanketing his son.

**AN: This might be my last post for a couple of days as I have a project due on Friday for grad school and really have a lot of work to do to finish it up. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Seriously, you are all awesome! I have been completely overwhelmed by the response to this story and I can't thank you enough for all the likes, follows, favorites, and comments! XOXO**

Chapter 6

_Pain exploded across her cheek and her head snapped back, a hoarse cry ripped from her throat. " Wake up, Matheson!" Charlie felt her stomach drop as she slowly brought her head around and forced her eyes open to confront her attacker. Her brow furrowed in surprised confusion. Not Mason. A new one. She glanced down, her eyes widening. Her tank top was gone, leaving her torso covered in nothing but her bra. At least they had left her pants on, she thought grimly. As the stranger stood before her, leisurely drawing on a cigarette, her eyes moved slowly around the tent. Officers, she realized, and their aides. Her lip curled in derision and defiance. They looked soft. And . . . ah. There was Mason. Sitting diagonally from her to get the best view, the rabid son of a bitch. Charlie forced herself to straighten in her chair despite the pain coursing through her body. She could feel a new bruise blossoming on her cheek where the stranger had struck her but, she shrugged inwardly, what did it matter? Just one more to join the rest they had inflicted on her. Charlotte returned her gaze to the man standing before her. Must be a new interrogator. Her jaw tightened but otherwise she did not allow herself to react, to give them the satisfaction of knowing that she was afraid._

_ "I understand you're being a bit stubborn, Matheson," the Patriot said as he circled her. "Quite stubborn, I'd guess. And the information you have must be pretty important." He stopped behind her and bent so that his lips were almost touching her ear. "They don't call me in for the little fish." Charlie jerked her head away from him, a look of disgust on her face. He chuckled darkly and straightened, continuing his perusal. "Come now, you should be flattered," he protested genially. He gestured and an aide brought a chair over, setting it in front of Charlie. The Patriot interrogator flipped it around and straddled it, his arms resting on the back, and reached into his pocket for another cigarette. "But I'm being rude," he apologized as he lit a new cigarette from the butt of the old. "I know who you are. You really should know my name. Makes everything so much friendlier, don't you think."_

_ "Fuck off."_

_ He laughed and shook his head, turning slightly to look over at Mason. "Oh, she's going to be a challenge," he said, a touch of glee in his voice, and turned back to Charlie. "I do so love a challenge." He puffed on his cigarette again, swirls of smoke writhing around his head and, for a moment, Charlie had the unbidden thought that this is what the Devil would look like. Confident, cocky, assured, even charming, and wreathed in grey, sinuous fingers of smoke. A frisson of fear shot down her spine and she forced herself to remain still._

_ "Parker," the man told her conversationally. "Lieutenant Tom Parker. And since we're going to get to known each other really well, I think I should dispense with the 'Miss Matheson' and just go straight for Charlotte."_

_ "Call me whatever you want, Parker," Charlie spat. "You won't get shit from me."_

_ Parker rose from his chair and stood in front of her, a faint smile on his lips. "Really, Charlotte, you're just jumping to conclusions. You have no idea . . ." Suddenly he lunged and Charlie had no time to brace herself, no time to hold in her reaction, as the glowing tip of his cigarette scorched the tender flesh between her breasts. She screamed as her body twisted to get away from the searing pain. As abruptly as the torture had begun, it was over and Charlie slumped in the chair, her breathing rapid and shallow._

_ "What I can do," Parker finished calmly as he discarded the used cigarette and brought out a new one. "Now." He looked down at her and Charlie felt a chill descend as she saw the cold intent finally revealed in his face. "Shall we begin?"_

"NO! God, please stop!" Charlie cried, tears of pain running down her cheeks as she writhed and twisted in her sleep. "Please, no more!"

"Charlie!" Rachel fumbled as she lit the lamp in the cramped quarters of the dugout and scrambled over to her child. "Charlie, wake up!"

"Rachel, what the hell is going on?" Miles roared as he and Gene threw themselves into the dugout.

Rachel was trying frantically to wake her screaming daughter, tears in her own eyes at Charlie's torment. "Nightmare," she said as she focused on bringing Charlie out of her remembered hell. "Charlie, honey, please wake up!" She shook her, gently at first so as not to hurt her, and then more roughly when it became clear that Charlie was too deeply immersed in the dream.

Suddenly Charlie shot up, lurching clumsily as pain shot through her body, sobbing and gasping for breath, an arm clenched across her broken ribs. Rachel reached out and smoothed the hair from her damp face, crooning softly as Charlie's eyes darted frantically from face to face. Long moments passed as her breathing finally settled and she closed her eyes, slumping against Rachel's shoulder.

"Everybody out."

Rachel looked sharply over at Miles. "What?" she asked, shock in her voice.

"I want you and Gene to go outside," Miles told her grimly, his eyes never leaving Charlie's starkly white face. "I need to talk to Charlie."

"Miles, I don't think . . ."

"Don't, Gene," Miles cut him off. "_Do not_ push me on this." He glanced at Rachel before returning his gaze to his niece. "Rachel, I mean it. You and Gene go keep watch. I'll be out in a bit."

Rachel seemed as though she was going to argue about it but Charlie pushed herself away from her mother's shoulder. "It's OK, Mom," she rasped, her voice hoarse from screaming. "Go on. I'll call if I need you."

Charlie smiled faintly as her mother searched her face and finally nodded. "We'll be right outside," Rachel assured her as she pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Miles waited until Rachel and her father had cleared the entrance to the dugout and then turned to Charlie.

"You managed to avoid my questions earlier, Charlie. Now I'm not leaving until you tell me everything."

"Miles, Grandpa can tell you what they did just as well . . ."

"Don't give me that crap, Charlie," he snapped, his eyes hard on her face. "I've seen your injuries. I know you were . . . tortured." Miles stumbled over the last word, his jaw clenched in rage. "It's obvious you had the crap beat out of you after you were taken. Any stupid Patriot son of a bitch could do that. But the cuts, the burns. Those were strategic. Those were put there by someone who knew what he was doing, how to inflict maximum pain with minimum loss. So I want to know what happened, who did it, and what they wanted from you." He held up a hand before Charlie could answer, his eyes sharp. "And I'm going to need more than 'they wanted to know where the camp was', Charlie. That's not going to fly this time."

Charlie bit her still-swollen lip and forced herself to meet her uncle's eyes. "I . . . still don't remember everything," she admitted in a shaky voice. "After it had gone on for a while . . . it all just became kind of a blur, you know?"

"Yeah," Miles said quietly. "I know."

"I already told you about Mason. He was the one who gave the orders, at least at first."

"Is that the guy who beat the hell out of you?" Miles asked, listening intently.

"No," Charlie shook her head, a smile ghosting across her face. "The doctor had just dug one of my arrows out of him, so he wasn't really up to it."

"Good girl."

"He called two guards in," Charlie continued slowly. "I don't know their names but . . . I'd recognize them again if I saw them again."

"You'll see them," Miles promised grimly. "Go on."

"Mason did the questioning. They did the encouraging."

"Your face," Miles stated flatly.

"And ribs," Charlie added. "I must have passed out eventually because I the next thing I knew, the tent was full of Patriot officers and . . ." She broke off and swallowed thickly, her eyes clenched shut against the terrible onslaught of new memories.

"Charlie?"

"Give me a minute," she snapped, her control almost gone. "This isn't exactly easy for me, OK? That damn dream brought it all back and I just . . . need a minute."

They sat in silence while Charlie breathed deeply in an attempt to calm her pounding heart, Miles waiting in tense, almost unbearable anticipation for her to continue. Finally she cleared her throat and her eyes slowly opened. "His name was Tom Parker. He was only a Lieutenant. All of the other officers in the tent outranked him but there was no question that he was in running the show. He told me that they only brought him in for special cases. Like I should have been impressed." She inhaled deeply, her face twisting. "Parker . . . enjoyed what he did to me," she whispered. "I could see it in his face. Every burn, every cut. There was this excitement in him." Charlie turned to Miles, her eyes desperate. "I tried not to scream," she told him, her voice pleading as though trying to convince him of her resolve. "But eventually I just . . . couldn't hold it in anymore."

Miles reached out and framed her face in his hands. "Don't you dare feel like you need to be ashamed of that," he rasped. "My God, there is _no shame_ in it."

Charlie nodded shortly, leaning her cheek into her uncle's hand to draw the much-needed comfort and assurance he was offering.

Moments passed and Miles finally drew back. "What did they want you to tell them, Charlie?"

She jolted at the sound of his voice, ripped out of her brief moment of peace, and blinked owlishly. "What?"

"The information they were trying to get out of you," Miles said patiently, his voice gentle. "What was it?"

"They . . . wanted me to give up the location of our camp," Charlie told him, her eyes steady on his. But Miles had heard the brief hesitation in her voice and knew that she wasn't telling him everything.

"Nope," he said briskly. "Not buying it, kid. You're leaving something out."

"Miles, it doesn't matter," she began, her jaw set.

"Charlie . . ."

"Honestly, Miles, that's all they wanted."

"Goddamit, Charlie," he suddenly shouted, surging to his knees in the cramped space. "I'm not going to settle for some half-ass, bullshit story. Tell me right now – _what did they want?_"

"They wanted me to give them Bass!" Charlie cried, her uncle's anger pushing her over the edge. "Mason told me he'd leave the rest of us alone if I gave him over to the Patriots!"

Miles rocked back on his heels, stunned at this revelation and, even more, the torment that Charlie had endured on Bass' behalf. Before he could speak, Rachel crawled back into the dugout, her eyes fierce. "That's enough, Miles," she warned him in a low voice. "I could hear the two of you yelling outside. Charlie doesn't need your heavy-handed questioning right now, dammit."

"Rachel . . ."

"No," she snapped, shoving past him to kneel next to Charlie's head. Rachel turned and glared at Miles. "For God's sake, Miles, leave her alone. You can satisfy your curiosity tomorrow. Go back out with Dad." Miles looked as though he was going to argue and Rachel shifted to block Charlie from his view. "I mean it, Miles."

Finally, he relented. "Alright," Miles replied reluctantly. "Get some rest, kid," he told Charlie as he moved to leave the dugout. "But this conversation isn't over." Charlie's eyes met her uncle's and, for a moment, she saw the anger, the unbending authority, the loathing of his own helplessness that had driven him to co-found the brutal Monroe Republic. A chill skittered up her back as she realized how easy it would be for him to become that man again, the one spoken of in hushed, trembling whispers as "The Butcher of Baltimore." Driving that thought forcibly from her mind, she pressed trembling lips together, closed her eyes, and turned her head into the folded blanket that served as a pillow. Unbelievably, she slipped painlessly into dreamless slumber, her nightmares, both waking and sleeping, temporarily at bay.

**AN: Oh, the muse and I are fighting, people! She's arguing for stupid things like plot development and delving deep into why the characters are who they are. Something about "building a real relationship." All **_**I**_** want is for Bass and Charlie to declare their undying love, leap into each other's arms, and start having gorgeous, curly-haired babies. **_**Sigh**_**. I guess I'll let her have her way. At least for a little while;) Reviews/comments keep us both motivated!**

**AN2: Thank you for all the good wishes for my grad school project. It actually went really well:) Hooray!**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

" . . . have to move, Rachel, and we have to do it now."

"Miles, she can't yet! She can barely move on her own. She needs more time. Dad, would you please tell him?"

Rachel and Miles' voices, low though they were, carried into the cave and Charlie's eyes fluttered open. She lay there for a moment, listening to argument go back and forth, before she struggled to lift herself from her pallet in the dugout and began to inch her way to the entrance. Any conversation revolving around her, she was going to be part of it, Charlie thought grimly as she shuffled forward. She was hurt, not dead.

"Miles," Gene was saying, his hands raised in a gesture of conciliation, "I know you're concerned about the Patriots finding us but we have the dugout, we're relatively safe –"

"There is no such thing as relatively safe, Gene," Miles responded harshly. "It's been three days, for God's sake. They've figured out that the trail we left was false. They're probably spread out all over the place by now. Before we know it the sons of bitches are going to be riding right up our asses." He whirled and threw an arm up, gesturing down the ridge. "And Bass is a Goddamn zombie! We need to get him away from Connor's grave. He's no good to us like this. The more distance we put between us and this place, the better for everyone."

"Miles, I am not moving my daughter one minute before –"

"Mom," Charlie called breathlessly as she slowly rose to her feet just outside the dugout. "Miles is right."

Her mother, uncle and grandfather rushed to her side, Rachel reaching out to put a steadying arm around her waist. "Charlie, you should have called me," she chastised gently. "You're not strong enough to be moving around by yourself."

"Mom," Charlie said firmly, "we need to go." She saw that her mother was going to argue and cut her off. "I'll be fine," she insisted. "Believe me, the discomfort of a few hours on a horse is nothing compared to what will happen to all of us if the Patriots catch us." Her voice trembled at the end, and she swallowed thickly before continuing. "Please. Don't fight Miles on this."

Rachel's brow was furrowed in consternation and she glanced between Charlie, Miles and her father. "Dad?" she asked. "What do you think? Hard riding on horseback . . . It just can't be a good idea yet."

Gene scraped his hands wearily down his face. "Honestly, Rachel, if we had an ideal situation here, I'd say keep her in bed for at least a few more days. But," he added when he saw that Rachel was about to jump on that comment, "this is about as far from ideal as you can get." Gene turned to look at his granddaughter and he sighed deeply. "Charlie, it's going to hurt like hell," he told her bluntly. "Your ribs are nowhere near healed and you're going to be jostled all over the place on your horse. It's going to be painful to grip the horse with that leg. But . . . it's doable. We'll bind your wounds as tight as you can stand and stop every few hours if you need it. Ultimately, it's up to you."

Charlie glanced at Rachel and then turned her attention to Miles. "I'm ready when you are," she said simply. Rachel caught her breath and shook her head, worry evident on her face, but she didn't object.

"Alright, kid," Miles replied with a small smile. "Rachel," he said, looking at her. "Get everything packed up. I want to be out of here within the next half hour. We'll eat as we go." Miles turned and squared his shoulders, definitely not looking forward to what he had to do next. "I'll go get Bass."

BCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBC

Miles walked almost silently down the ridge and into the little valley where Connor was buried. As far as he could tell, Bass hadn't moved since Charlie's visit the day before. Miles ran a hand across the back of his neck and took a deep breath, preparing for Bass' inevitable objections to leaving his son behind.

Bass half turned as Miles approached, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. "What is it, Miles?" he asked. Miles noticed with some surprise that Bass sounded almost . . . normal. He moved to stand next to him and knelt on one knee, their faces almost even with each other.

"Bass, I know you don't want to hear this but we can't stay here. We have to go."

Monroe shifted his gaze back to Connor's grave, his jaw tight, and Miles waited for him to break the lengthening silence. "I know," he finally replied. "When?"

"As soon as possible," Miles answered quietly. "Gene is just making sure Charlie is set to travel." He noticed how Bass tensed up at Charlie's name but continued as though it hadn't happened. "I want to be out of here within the next half hour."

Bass nodded slowly. "Fine. Just give me a couple of minutes. I'll be ready."

"Bass, I – "

"Don't, Miles," Bass told him wearily. "Go back to camp. I'll be right up." He sat there silently as Miles walked away. When he could no longer hear the soft, retreating footfalls Bass allowed his head to fall forward, passing a weary hand over his dry, burning eyes. "I . . ." he began, but then clenched his jaw. It was stupid, he thought. Connor was dead. He couldn't hear him. Bass moved as if to rise but just couldn't seem to make himself leave his son's gravesite. It didn't matter whether or not Connor could hear him, he realized. There were things that he just needed to say. Bass sat back down, raising a leg and resting his head against his knee. "I'm so sorry, Connor," he whispered as one hand blindly sought out the dry, crumbling earth of his son's grave. "I'm sorry that your life was so fucked up. I completely failed you and now I'll never have a chance to make it right." Bass felt himself starting to give way and bit down sharply on his lip to keep his Goddamn worthless tears from falling. He took a deep breath and raised his head, his eyes dry and bleak as they rested on Connor's grave. "You deserved so much more than this. So much more than me. You'll never know how much I'll always regret that we . . . didn't even have a chance to know each other." Bass' jaw clenched and the hand resting on the silent, encompassing soil tensed into a fist. "I swear, Connor, the people who did this are going to die for what they took from us. That's the last thing I can do for you, kid, and I'll spend the rest of my life making sure that they pay."

Bass stood slowly and turned. He walked away from his son and not once did he look back.

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Rachel, Gene and Charlie sat on their mounts, Miles stood next to his as he held the reins of Bass' horse, their eyes trained on the ridge as they waited for Monroe.

"Miles, if we're going, you need to go get him," Rachel said impatiently.

"He asked for a little time, Rachel," Miles told her sharply. "Considering this is probably the last time he'll be able to visit his son's grave, I'm going to give it to him." He turned to look at Rachel, his eyes dark with remembered pain. "You of all people should know how that feels."

"Don't you dare compare –" Rachel started furiously, only to be cut off by Bass' quiet, toneless voice. "Let's go."

He walked over to Miles, grabbed the reins, and vaulted onto the horse's back. Charlie looked at him closely to see if she could find any sign of emotion, any crack in his stony façade of grief, but there was none. She almost wished that he'd rage, scream, weep, anything but this cold, controlled silence. She shifted restlessly in her saddle and groaned, the knife-like pain shooting through her torso taking her mind temporarily off of Bass. Shit, they hadn't even started moving yet and she was already in agony. Charlie straightened carefully in her saddle and pressed her lips together. They weren't going to hear a single word of protest out of her, she vowed. She wasn't going to be the reason that sick son of a bitch got his hands on her family.

Miles mounted his horse and turned back to check to make sure that everyone was ready. His eyes lingered on Charlie, concern in his eyes. Damn it, the girl was white as milk, though from that stubborn look on her face she wouldn't complain even if she were dying. Rachel was fuming at the delay, wanting nothing more than to drag Charlie from her horse and put her back to bed. Gene just looked resigned to whatever hell they were riding into. And Bass. Miles was beyond concerned about Monroe. He hadn't seen that look on his face since Shelley and the baby and Miles was genuinely concerned that Bass was perilously close to losing whatever progress he had made and becoming, once again, the unstable, conflicted, murderous President Monroe.

"Miles?"

Rachel's voice brought him back to reality and he nodded at the group. "Alright, guys, let's go." With one last concerned glance at Charlie, he tapped his boot heels against his horse's sides and led them away from their temporary sanctuary.

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The following hours passed interminably for Charlie. Every step of her horse, whether they were walking or cantering, unfurled ribbons of pain throughout her body. There were a few times that she had been afraid her teeth would go through her lower lip, so hard had she bitten down to prevent any sounds from leaving her as they strained to put miles between them and the Patriots. Eventually, though, the horses grew weary and twilight descended around them. Miles, who had ridden point for the last few hours of the journey, had found a relatively safe location to camp. The ground in every direction was worryingly flat but he had found a small lake with a clump of trees along its bank. In terms of cover it wasn't what he would have preferred but at it was better than nothing.

Charlie sat rigidly in her saddle, every breath causing her ribs to explode in agony, and worried that any movement on her part would just make everything worse. Miles appeared at her left stirrup and put his hand on her ankle. "C'mon, kid, just swing your right leg over the pommel and slide down. I'll do the rest."

Charlie braced herself as she slowly, torturously brought her uninjured leg over the horse, her jaw clenched against the pain streaking through her as her ribs protested the strain. Miles gently slid her left foot from her stirrup and carefully gripped her hips, trying to avoid putting pressure on her waist and ribs. Charlie slid down the side of the horse, Miles guiding her down, but when tried to put pressure on her injured leg it gave way and she stumbled back with a cry. Miles lost his grip and lunged to grab her. Charlie felt herself falling and then, abruptly she wasn't. Hands gripped her elbows and she found her back resting against a hard chest. Even in the midst of her pain, she stiffened and tried to pull away.

Miles put an arm around her shoulder and brought her against his side. "Thanks, Bass," he said sincerely, tightening his hand on Charlie's shoulder. Charlie risked a look over her shoulder, her eyes taking in Monroe's rigid profile. Bass was staring straight ahead, his face expressionless. Without a word, he released her arms, grabbed his horse's trailing reins, and maneuvered around Miles and Charlie to lead his mount to water.

Miles and Charlie stood watching him for a moment before Miles sighed and put gentle pressure on her shoulder. "Let's get you settled, Charlie," he said as they walked towards Rachel and Gene. "You have to be absolutely wiped out."

"Yeah," Charlie murmured, her mind still on Bass and the terrible deadness in his eyes. "Miles," she started and hesitated, not knowing if she should ask.

"What is it, Charlie?"

"Is he . . . going to be OK?"

Miles stopped and looked down at Charlie, though she avoided meeting his gaze. "I don't know, kid," he replied, sighing deeply, his eyes abruptly losing focus as he was lost in painful memories. "I haven't seen him like this since –" He broke off as he became aware of what he had been about to say and, jaw clenched, kept leading Charlie to the campsite.

Even though it was obvious that Miles didn't want to tell her, Charlie couldn't help but press him. "Since when, Miles?" she asked.

"Forget it, Charlie," Miles almost snapped, gesturing to Rachel to help Charlie to her pallet. "Keep away from Bass," he warned under his breath as Rachel moved in their direction. "I mean it, kid."

As Rachel led Charlie to her bedroll, Charlie couldn't help but glance over at Sebastian Monroe, now nothing more than a shadow in the fading light – dark, silent, and very alone.

**AN: As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Bass had been given the second watch. He accepted the assignment willingly enough as he couldn't have cared one way or another. The images of his Connor's death that ran through his mind every time he closed his eyes had come between him and his sleep every night since he had seen his son draped over the back of his horse. Bass sat with his back against the base of a tree trunk, his gun resting across his knees, and scanned the perimeter of the camp. A sudden noise caused his head to snap around and he saw Charlie flinch in her sleep, mewling gasps slipping past her lips. Shit. He was going to have to wake her up. He couldn't run the risk of her screaming. It was incredible how far sound could travel over the flat, open Texas landscape. Bass reluctantly rose to his feet and walked towards her.

_Charlie ground her teeth together - trying desperately to keep from screaming, from sobbing, from telling them whatever they wanted - as the thin, sharp blade sliced through the flesh covering her ribs. She could feel blood seeping down her side, running down her waist and soaking into the waistband of her pants. How many times had Parker cut her, she wondered vaguely. Two times? Ten? Twenty? She truly couldn't remember. Just as the pain began to lessen, he cut her again, this time just under her breast. Fire exploded in the new wound as he pressed a wet cloth against it. _

"_Burn a bit, does it?" Parker asked. "Salt water on open cuts can be a tad . . . uncomfortable." He pressed harder and Charlie's head fell back, the cords in her neck standing out as she strained to ride out the pain, her mouth wide open as she gasped desperately for breath. Then, suddenly, the cloth was gone and she slumped, limp, in the chair. _

"_Most people make the mistake of getting overly complex," he said as he ran the flat of the blade across her collarbone. "But that's all just window dressing. A knife, a little water, some salt. Really, it's all you need. Amazingly affective if you keep it up long enough." Another swipe of the blade parted the skin just below her belly button and Charlie's breath shuddered out of her, sounding perilously close to a sob. "Minimum blood loss, compounding pain with every nick of the blade. Keep the cuts wet and they stay open for as long as I want. This can go on indefinitely." Charlie felt tears slip from beneath her closed eyelids and she hated herself for giving him the satisfaction._

"_We both know how this can end, Charlotte," Parker said soothingly. "Just tell me where I can find Sebastian Monroe. You and your family can go wherever you want, no looking over your shoulders anymore. You can settle in one place and have a real life again. You'll never have to wake up knowing that Sebastian Monroe is still on this earth while your father and brother are rotting under it." He leaned in close, his lips almost touching her ear. "Give him up, Charlotte," he whispered. "You can finally pay him back for everything he's taken from you. Tell me it's not what you've always wanted."_

_Charlie forced her eyes open and blinked several times to try and clear her vision. She could make out the Patriot officers sitting in their chairs, neatly arranged in a semicircle and watching the scene before them with no pity in their eyes, only unconcealed hunger for what she could tell them. She turned to face Parker, black spots blotting her vision as she struggled to remain conscious. Yes, she thought blearily. It would be so easy. And then he'd stop. Then she could rest. She tried to speak but found her mouth was too dry. Parker saw her struggle and gestured urgently for a glass of water. He held it to her mouth and she gulped it greedily, closing her eyes as she savored the cool wetness slipping down her throat, rehydrating parched flesh. _

"_Alright, Charlie," Parker prompted gently, his voice betraying no sense of the urgency he felt . "I think there's something you want to tell me."_

_Charlie looked at him again and suddenly memories flashed through her mind – of Monroe saving her life in the Tower, of him bursting into that damn bar like a fallen avenging angel and saving her from being raped and murdered. Bass coming back at the high school, protecting her once again, and fighting alongside her in the gym. Offering himself up as a sacrifice to Gould so that his son could live. In spite of everything he had done, she couldn't forget all of that. She blinked and looked Parker right in the eye. "Yes," she rasped. "There is." She inhaled deeply, knowing what was coming, and spat in his face. _

_He reared back in shock and disgust, wiping his face on his sleeve and staring at her in blank fury. She watched him, waiting for him to strike out, and was chilled when she saw him regain control. "Very well, Charlotte," he said, the calmness of his words belied by the rage kindling in his eyes. He reached into his pocket and drew out a cigarette. Charlie's flesh cringed and she felt the blood drain from her face. No. Not again._

"_Let's have another go, shall we?" _

A hand clamped across her mouth and Charlie's eyes flared open, her heart racing as she struggled to free herself from an unknown assailant.

"Charlotte!" a familiar voice hissed and Charlie collapsed back onto her blanket in relief. The hand was slowly removed and she drew in breaths in heaving gulps.

"You were having a nightmare," Bass told her flatly. "I had to wake you up before you started screaming."

Charlie flinched away from the coldness in his voice and pulled her blanket higher around her. "Thank you," she said quietly, grateful that she hadn't awakened the others to face their inevitable questions.

Bass rose without a word and resumed his seat by the tree. Charlie lay there in the silence, staring into the darkness, wondering if morning would ever come.

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Rachel helped Miles and Gene pack up their gear, all the while keeping a close eye on Charlie. She was still so pale, Rachel noticed, and the dark circles under her eyes had only grown worse. It was obvious that what little sleep she was getting was not restful. She turned to Miles and noticed that he was keeping an eye on Bass. Monroe had kept himself separate from them, a decision for which Rachel was grateful. He had slept away from the group the night before and had eaten by the small copse of trees by the pond. She noticed with almost complete disinterest that he appeared to be even more exhausted than Charlie.

"Miles."

He turned to face her, his eyebrows raised in inquiry. "What did Charlie tell you yesterday?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When you sent Dad and me out of the dugout. What did she tell you?"

Miles dropped his eyes from hers and focused on folding up his bedroll. "I think you should ask Charlie that, Rachel."

Rachel huffed out a breath. "Please, Miles," she replied. "You know that Charlie doesn't exactly confide in me." When he shot a pointed look at her over his shoulder, Rachel glared back. "Just because she won't talk to me about it doesn't mean that you can't," she reasoned. "Miles, I'm her mother. I need to know."

"Look, Rachel," Miles said as he slung his saddlebags over his horse's back. "I respect the fact that you're Charlie's mother and that you love and want to protect her. Believe me, I get it. But I also respect the fact that she'll tell you when she's ready."

"Oh, please, Miles," Rachel scoffed, her anger evident in her voice. "You're the one who browbeat her to get her to tell you what happened and now you're telling me to wait until she's ready? Do you not see the hypocrisy in that?"

"We both know that Charlie wouldn't have told me a Goddamn thing if she hadn't wanted to," Miles snapped as he strode towards her. "Even bruised and bloodied, Charlie is still one of the most stubborn creatures God ever put on this earth. I could have brought the dugout down around her ears and she still wouldn't have said a word unless she was damn good and ready. I knew that, and so did Charlie." His face softened when he saw Rachel's genuine distress and he put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Let her come to you, Rachel," he advised.

"Fine," Rachel sighed. "I'll wait. But I don't know how much longer I can stand seeing her like this." Her voice trembled and she shook her head, frustrated by her own helplessness. "She's suffering and not just from her injuries. I hate knowing that I can't do anything to help her."

"I know," Miles soothed, pulling her into a comforting embrace. His eyes moved from Charlie, who was leaning heavily against her horse, to Bass as he was securing his gear to his horse's saddle. "Believe me, I know."

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Each day was remarkably, terribly, like the other. They rode as long as there was light, often backtracking, sometimes abruptly changing direction. Anything to befuddle the Patriot patrols that Miles was certain were attempting to run them to ground. With every mile, Charlie clung desperately to the hope that, eventually, they would stop and truly rest. She wanted more than just snatches of slumber out in the open. Every time she lay down on her thin bedroll she could feel the tension of the day bleeding into the inky blackness of night so that there was never any true sleep, just broken periods of restless dozing punctuated with the relentless nightmares that had plagued her ever since Monroe had snatched her from the Patriots. More than once she had been wrenched from the grip of some terrible memory by Bass' hand pressed across her mouth, her cries of terror muffled as tears trickled down her temples. Every time, he had started down at her impassively, his face a cold mask of indifference. Until the last time, Charlie reminded herself wearily. She had seen something in his eyes then. Just for a moment. At first she had thought that she had imagined it. But no, she reassured herself. There had been something. It had almost looked like . . . shock? Horror? It didn't matter, Charlie told herself. All that mattered was sleep. Dear God, she was tired.

Bass watched Charlie as he brought up the rear of the group, a frown briefly appearing on his face. She still held herself rigidly in the saddle, so he knew that she was still experiencing pain from her wounds or at least her ribs. And he knew first-hand that she was barely sleeping. He found himself waiting as he kept watch, listening for those muffled sounds of distress, watching for the slight twisting of her body as she wrestled with unseen demons. Every night he woke her from her nightmares and every night he managed to keep himself distanced from her torment. Until the last time. He had been reaching out to cover her mouth when she suddenly wrenched her head to the side. She had gasped and a low, sobbing moan erupted from deep within her. He bent closer, trying to reach her, to rouse her, when he heard her whisper a single word as her face crumpled in remembered pain: "Bass." He had been frozen in place, stunned that he had been part of her nightmare. Was she dreaming that _he_ had been torturing her? The very idea made him feel sick. Bass had forced himself to wake her up and, as he had done every other night, to walk away when she had come to herself. But he knew that he had let his feeling show, just for the briefest of moments. Charlie hadn't seen, he told himself. She couldn't have. She had been too upset, too exhausted to notice a flicker of emotion on his face. He had hidden it too quickly. He was safe.

**AN: My last post for tonight but Chapter 9 is practically forcing itself out through my fingers. Please excuse any mistakes in this chapter as I was just so eager to get it posted. All the reviews have been amazing and the muse is so happy that she's just not letting up:) **** As always, reviews are very welcome!**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The setting sun was a churning spot of fire in the West, casting its dying rays across a sky streaked with pink, orange and an ever-deepening indigo. Rachel was kneeling by the small fire, steadily feeding it dry clumps of grass and small sticks that she had gathered from around their campsite. She frowned as she tended to the growing flames and glanced at the partially filled cooking pot. Dinner was going to be a sorry affair tonight. If Miles or Monroe didn't find some game soon, she thought, this situation was going to get a hell of a lot more miserable. Not that it could get much worse. Her eyes scanned the camp, stopping as they came to rest on her daughter. Charlie had lost weight, her eyes were haunted and perpetually bruised from a continued lack of sleep, and she still moved as though afraid that she might shatter. Rachel felt tears burn her eyes and angrily blinked them away. She _would not_ give into tears, knowing from bitter experience that they would not make her feel better. Nor would they help her suffering child.

A flash of movement caught her attention and she turned her head to see Monroe moving silently through the camp, his dead eyes looking neither to the left nor the right but staring straight ahead. He had been ignoring them for almost a week, ever since they had buried Connor. That had been just fine with her. But she had noticed that Charlie's eyes seemed to follow him when he passed, sought him out whenever he settled away from the others as they turned in. And Miles. He was watching them both. He was concerned, Rachel knew, and he had every right to be. But there was something else, something more than the natural anxiety an uncle would have about a wounded niece, the apprehension he might feel about a friend slipping back into darkness. Rachel couldn't put her finger on it but she knew instinctively that, whatever it was, it was something that linked Charlie and Bass together. She watched as Bass mounted his horse and rode out of camp on what would doubtlessly be another fruitless search for game. She kept her eyes on him as his figure grew smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing from sight. In her peripheral vision, she noticed that Charlie did the same. Rachel's fingers tightened around a stick and the sharp crack as it snapped jolted her out of her reverie. She continued to feed the fire, her face smooth and impassive. She would find out what was going on and she was going to do it by following Miles' advice. Be patient. Don't push. It was going to happen, Rachel silently assured herself. And, if nothing else, a decade as Monroe's prisoner had taught her how to bide her time. She could wait.

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Gene slung the saddlebag containing his medical supplies over his shoulder and glanced at his daughter as he walked past the campfire. Rachel had that look on her face again, he noticed with some trepidation. Oh, she might appear calm, even placid, but he could almost hear the gears turning in her head. God knew there was enough to keep even _her_ mind busy, he thought wearily. He glanced around and saw Charlie unfurling her bedroll, a slight hitch in her movement as she felt a tug, whether from her ribs or her other wounds, he couldn't tell. He made his way quickly to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. Her head jerked around, eyes wide with fear, her shoulders heaving with her gasping breath. Gene stepped back, keeping his eyes on hers. "Charlie, honey, it's just me," he said soothingly. "You're alright. You're safe."

It seemed to take a moment for his words to register and then her eyes slid shut and she turned away. "Grandpa, I'm . . . sorry," she murmured, shaking her head in frustration. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Gene approached her carefully, making sure not to touch her, until she turned to face him again and tried to smile – a swift, tight movement of her lips that was more of a grimace than anything else. He felt rage boil up in his chest at how wounded, how broken she still way. And, he acknowledged reluctantly, may always be. Gene smoothed a gentle hand down her hair and smiled back. "It's OK, Charlie," he assured her. "It'll take time but soon you won't have to be reminded that you're not in any danger. You're safe with us."

"For now."

"No," Gene insisted as he slid an arm around her shoulders and brought her into a gentle embrace. "Not just for now." The two of them stood there, Charlie leaning into her grandfather's chest and Gene momentarily free to let his feelings of anger and frustration show on his face. But, he reminded himself, there would be time for that later. Right now, he had a patient to attend to.

"It's been three days, Charlie. Time to change your bandages," he told her as he stepped away and gestured to the saddlebags draped across his shoulder. She groaned but allowed Gene to lead her away from the camp where they might have at least the illusion of privacy. They found an old, hollow, rotting log and Charlie sat down, grimacing as she tried to remove her tank top by herself.

"Hold on, Charlie," Gene told her, his voice crisp and professional. Chalrie almost laughed. If she just listened to his voice and didn't know any better, she'd think she was in a real doctor's office. At least he could bandage her leg through the tear in her jeans, she thought thankfully. Gene gently raised the shirt and set it aside as he began to unwind the bindings around Charlie's ribs. Her torso was still heavily bruised, the purple beginning to fade to an ugly yellow. The cuts and burns that marred her flesh were healing, though more slowly than he'd like. Gene frowned as he reached into his bag for his jar of honey. Thank God for natural antibacterials. He began to dab the sticky substance on the wounds - he couldn't believe how many there were – and finally, after long minutes, double-checked to make sure he hadn't missed any.

"Alright, kiddo, here's the unpleasant part." Gene brought out his last clean set of binding rags and Charlie braced herself as she held the lead end in place just under her breasts. Gene wound the cloth around her, pulling gently but firmly as he went, making sure that they were as tight as she could bear. Charlie's breath hitched in her throat a couple of times but, he noticed with a mixture of pride and irritation, she didn't make a sound. When he was finally done and had tied off the ends, he sat back on his heels. There was a fine sheen of sweat on Charlie's pale face and her eyes were dark with fatigue and pain. Gene shook his head.

"Charlie, pain is nature's way of telling us that something is wrong," he told her as he began to remove the bandage on her shoulder. "There's nothing wrong in admitting –" He broke off as his breath caught in his throat. Her shoulder was red, inflamed, and hot to the touch. "Goddamn it, Charlie, why didn't you tell me about this?" he exclaimed, his face flushed with anger.

Charlie glanced over at her shoulder, surprise evident on her face. "What's wrong?" she asked, confusion in her voice.

His attention firmly on the wound before him, Gene didn't even spare her a glance as he gently prodded the torn flesh. "It's infected," he bit out. "And it has to be incredibly painful. Why didn't you tell me?"

Charlie shook her head as she tried to remain still during her grandfather's gentle examination. "It's been painful since it happened," she told him. "I didn't notice anything different."

"Son of a bitch, this set in fast," he muttered to himself. "No sign of any infection the last time I saw it." Gene finally looked up at Charlie, his jaw set and eyes hard. "I'm going to put a temporary bandage on your shoulder, Charlie. Come on," he said as he wound a strip of cloth loosely around the injured joint and then helped her put her top back on. "We need to talk to your mother and Miles."

Miles looked up as Gene and Charlie returned to the group and rose swiftly when he saw the look on Gene's face. "What is it, Gene?" he asked urgently. "Patriots?"

"No, not Patriots," Gene replied shortly as he helped Charlie sit on her bedroll and lean back against her saddle. "Rachel," he called, gesturing for her to join them. "We need to talk."

Rachel hurried over to stand next to Miles, her concerned gaze sweeping over her father and daughter. "What's wrong?"

"Charlie's shoulder is infected," Gene told them bluntly. "It's bad. Set in fast and we're past the point where honey will help. We need to take care of this _now_ or I'm afraid she could turn septic." Rachel gasped and covered her mouth with a trembling hand, her eyes shooting over to her daughter. She shifted so that her back was partially turned to Charlie and raised damp eyes to her father.

"Dad, what can we do?" she asked quietly, her hand almost instinctively reaching for Miles'.

Gene gestured for them to move farther away from Charlie and pitched his voice low. "The only thing we can do," he said grimly, "is to cut away the infected flesh and cauterize the fresh wound." Miles bit out an oath and spun away, his hands clenched at his sides as his gaze was drawn almost reluctantly to his niece. Even though she had her eyes closed, he knew she wasn't asleep. Her eyebrows were drawn together in a faint frown and her breathing was rapid as she fidgeted, trying to find a comfortable position. Her suffering hit him like a fist to the gut and he could have howled with rage at his own helplessness. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and turned back to Gene.

"I know, Miles," Gene said. "Believe me, I'd give anything if we had another option. But the infection has gone too far for that. And," he added urgently, "we cannot do it here. When it's over, she won't be in any condition to travel. She's going to need rest, plenty of it, and a roof over her head. Clean water. And _food. _Charlie's exhausted and she's dropped far too much weight. Her physical condition has deteriorated to the point that she's not healing as quickly as she should." Gene stepped forward, his eyes hard on Miles' tense face. "I let her choose last time," Gene reminded him. "But not now. I don't care if the Devil himself is on our heels. We don't stop, she's as good as dead."

Rachel stifled a soft cry and Miles swore fluently under his breath. "Goddamn it, Gene, why don't you just ask for gold to rain down from the sky?" he asked incredulously. "Look around us!" Miles told him as he gestured to the flat, barren landscape, a shadow of distant hills a smudge on the horizon. "Where the hell are we going to find _any_ of that?"

"Miles, I'm just the doctor. I am telling you what I know and what she needs. The rest," he told him over his shoulder as he moved back to Charlie's side, "is up to you."

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Dinner, what little there was of it, was grimly silent. Rachel kept pressing Charlie to eat something but, after a few small mouthfuls, Charlie shook her head and turned away to lay back down on her bedroll. Rachel, Miles and Gene sat dispiritedly around the campfire, each avoiding looking at the others as their concern and tension mounted.

"Where the hell is Monroe?" Rachel finally asked, her voice a hissed whisper in the darkness. "He's been gone for hours. Has he finally decided to leave us in peace?"

"I don't know where he is, Rachel," Miles answered immediately, "but I doubt he's taken off on his own."

"How can you be so sure?"

Miles huffed out a grim laugh, his eyes remaining on the dancing colors of the fire. "Because I know him. He wants revenge and he knows that he needs us to get it. He'll be back."

"Well, he'd better be here by morning," Rachel replied as she rose and turned to go to bed. "Because we're leaving as soon as the sun comes up. We're finding a place for Dad to operate on Charlie and I don't care if Monroe's with us or not." She settled onto her blanket and glared at Miles. "I'll be damned if I lose another child because of Sebastian Monroe."

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Rachel was up with the sun, moving swiftly to pack up the camp and pushing Miles and Gene to move faster in securing their own gear. "Let's go, Miles," she insisted as she helped Charlie to sit by the banked embers of the camp fire. "The sooner we leave, the better. And no," she cut him off sharply, "we _are not_ waiting for Monroe."

"Mom, what are you talking about?" Charlie asked wearily. "What's with the urgency?"

Rachel stopped and knelt next to her daughter. "Charlie, you know your shoulder is infected. Grandpa," she paused, but pressed on. "Grandpa said that you need surgery or your life could be in danger. So we need to find a place where he can treat you and you can recuperate. The sooner we do that," Rachel told Charlie earnestly, "the better it will be for you." She peered into her daughter's pale, still face for a sign of comprehension. "Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Charlie replied, "I do." She turned to look at her mother with weary determination in her eyes. "But we can't just leave him."

Rachel cursed and pushed to her feet, pacing back and forth in front of her daughter. "Charlie, _he_ left _us_!" she exclaimed, her movements jerky with agitation. "He rode out last night and we haven't seen a sign of him since. He's gone and it's for the best."

Gene nodded over her shoulder as he joined the conversation. "I think you may have spoken too soon, Rachel." He peered into the distance and grimaced. "At least, I hope you have. I can't tell if that's Monroe or not."

Miles ran towards them, tossing a rifle to Rachel, and they both stood in front of Charlie and Gene, aiming their weapons at the approaching figure. Long moments passed until Miles relaxed and sighed, lowering the gun. "It's Bass," he announced, watching the familiar figure approach, and frowned at Rachel when she hesitated in pointing the gun barrel at the ground.

"Where the hell have you been, Bass?" Monroe shouted as Monroe rode into camp. Bass dismounted, not even looking at the others as he unhooked a dead rabbit from his saddle. Miles jerked him around by the shoulder and Bass shoved him away, cold rage in his face.

"Back off, Miles," he said, his voice rough from disuse.

Miles ground his teeth together, suppressing the need to lash out physically at the man. "Where. Have. You. Been?" he repeated slowly, maintaining a tenuous hold on his control.

"You know that I was hunting," Bass replied flatly. "It got dark, there was no moon. I found an abandoned cabin and stayed there for the night."

Miles jerked as though he had been struck. "A cabin?" he asked hoarsely. "Where?"

"About seven, eight miles that way," Bass replied, nodding in the direction from which he had just come. He finally noticed Miles' tension, the look of desperate hope on his face, and, for a moment, Bass allowed a flicker of confusion to cross his features. "What's your problem?"

It took a moment for Miles to gather himself before he could finally answer. "Charlie's worse," he said grimly. "Gene says he needs to operate. Her shoulder is infected. He needs a place to do it and for her to recover. This could be exactly what we're looking for."

Bass appeared to remain emotionless as he listened and Miles found himself growing more and more infuriated by the man's lack of interest in Charlie's welfare. Intellectually, he understood how Connor's death had affected Bass. Miles had seen him shut down like this before when the pain of his loss had been more than he could bear. But knowing what Charlie had gone through and, more importantly, _why_ she had suffered so terribly, Miles could feel his resolve start to slip. He wanted to tell Bass, oh, how he wanted to tell him. He watched his hand reach out as if to grasp Bass' collar and vaguely thought how odd it was that he felt totally disconnected from the movement. It was as if he had no control over what his instincts were pushing him to do. Before he could complete the action, however, Rachel interrupted them.

"Miles?" she snapped, her eyes hard and unyielding as she glared at Bass. "We don't have time for this. We have to –"

Miles spun to face her, the mask of anger slipping from his face to reveal his excitement, his hope. "Rachel," he said urgently as he gripped her shoulders. "Bass found a cabin."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"That is absolutely not going to happen, Miles!" Rachel hissed, her eyes burning embers in a face pale with rage. "How could you possibly think that I'd agree to such an _asinine_ idea? Of all the ridiculous, soft-headed, moronic . . ."

Miles stood in front of her, his arms folded across his chest and waited for her rant to finish. When she finally seemed to run out of ways to express her serious doubts as to his intelligence, he spoke. "Honestly, Rachel, you don't have to agree to it. The final decision isn't yours." He watched in morbid fascination as a tide of red rose up her neck and across her face. Just as she seemed ready to lunge at his throat, he held up a hand and cut her off. "We don't have a choice in this," he snapped. "We can't afford to have the Patriots follow us to the cabin and we need to confuse them as much as possible. You, Gene and I have to lay false trails for them to follow. I'll lead Charlie's horse. She can ride double with Bass so they won't know that two riders went in that direction. If they find the tracks, they'll follow the ones with the highest possibility of a significant yield." His face softened slightly and he stepped closer to the fuming woman. "He won't hurt her, Rachel."

"I don't understand, Miles," Rachel insisted, panic starting to creep into her voice. "He's told us where the cabin is. Why can't he leave a trail and you take Charlie to the cabin?"

Miles stood with his hand son his hips, studying the ground for a long moment, before raising his eyes to Rachel's. "Because they both need this," he said simply. "They're hurting, Rachel, and I'm pretty sure that they're the only ones who can help each other."

"Miles," Rachel said incredulously, her eyes wide on his face. "Are you listening to yourself? You want to send my daughter off, the only child I have left, with _Sebastian Monroe_ because you think she can help him?" She took several steps backwards, shaking her head as though she just couldn't fathom such an idea. "Have you forgotten what he's done? What he's taken from us?"

Miles strode up to her and grabbed her shoulders, giving her a little shake. "Have you forgotten what _we've_ done, Rachel?" he asked furiously. "I was right there next to Bass, carving out the Republic. My hands are as bloody as his. I was the Butcher of Baltimore, remember? Why do you think people called me that? And, my God, I'm the one who tricked you into coming to Philadelphia! You didn't see your family for over a decade because of me." Rachel shook her head, tears on her cheeks, and tried to pull away but Miles just tightened his grip. "And when the power went off," he said softly. "How many people died that first day alone, never mind over the last fifteen years?"

Rachel raised tortured eyes to his, betrayal on her face. "We never meant for any of this to happen," she whispered brokenly. "It isn't the same."

"Do you think Bass and I intended to become what we were?" Miles shook her again, his voice harsh. "The four of us – you, Ben, Bass and I – we all thought we were doing the right thing at the time and everything . . . just got away from us. This isn't an excuse, Rachel," he insisted. "But think about it. Charlie has forgiven us both for everything we've done. _Everything_. She wouldn't be with us if she hadn't. That forgiveness –" he broke off abruptly and dropped his hands from her shoulders. "It changed my life, Rachel. And I think it changed yours. Charlie needs the opportunity to forgive him and he needs to know that maybe he isn't as lost as he thinks. They both deserve that chance."

Rachel pressed her lips together and shook her head, her eyes closed tight as she struggled for composure. Finally she raised her head and looked at him, resigned and yet still quietly furious. "You're going to do what you want," she bit out. "And, knowing Charlie, she'll probably go along with it. But if _anything_ happens to her, Miles, I'll kill him. And I will _never_ forgive you."

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Charlie stared at him for so long that Miles was actually starting to get uncomfortable. "Charlie," he said, "This is the best idea we have."

"He won't agree to it," Charlie told him bluntly. "Miles, he won't even eat his meals with us. How can you think he'll willingly be in my company for . . . what? The next twenty-four hours, at least, right?"

"I didn't ask him," Miles informed her. "I told him that this was how it was going to be."

"And?"

"He didn't say no." Charlie just looked at him. "OK, he didn't say anything," Miles admitted ruefully. "But he hasn't been exactly talkative since Connor died." He stepped closer to her and cupped her cheek with his hand. "It'll be alright, kid," he said soothingly and found himself repeating the words he had said to Rachel. "He won't hurt you."

Charlie quirked an eyebrow. "Miles," she said patiently, as if speaking to a child, "I wouldn't let him hurt me." She rested her hand on the hilt of her hunting knife, which was once again strapped to her waist. Miles suppressed a smile at the gesture of baseless bravado. The kid looked like a slight breeze would knock her over but she still tried to act like the toughest dog in the junkyard. Gotta love that kind of grit.

"But that's not what I'm worried about," Charlie continued as she half turned from him, her hand reaching up to press against her wounded shoulder. "I've . . . been having nightmares," she told him. "Every night. I always wake up before I say anything. At least I think I do. But," she turned back to him, concern in her eyes. "What if I talk in my sleep? What if he hears me? I don't want him to know, Miles."

"Charlie, I think you're borrowing trouble," he assured her. "But honestly, I don't think it would be the worst thing to happen. For either of you." Charlie shook her head and studied her feet. "Kid, you can't keep holding onto this. The memories of what happened – they're poisoning you. You've got to face what happened. Even more, you have to face why you made the decision you did about protecting Bass. Now," he continued, "I'm not saying you have to tell him a thing. Do it, don't do it. Whatever. All I want is for you to be OK."

"When did you become so introspective, Miles?" Charlie asked grimly.

"Oh, you know, man gets to a certain age, he appreciates the need for a hobby," Miles replied with false cheer. He became serious once again, his eyes studying her closely. "Your decision, Charlie," he told her. "If you really don't want to do it this way, we'll change the plan."

Charlie sighed wearily and shook her head. "It's fine," she told him, her voice low. "Honestly, I don't care. I just want to get to the cabin and get my shoulder taken care of. I need it over with."

Miles gestured to Bass and he walked over to join them, leading his horse by the reins. "We're good to go," Miles informed him. He glanced at his niece. "Charlie, why don't you go say goodbye to your mother and Gene?" he suggested. In spite of her exhaustion, both physical and mental, Charlie managed to roll her eyes at his attempt at subtlety and slowly moved to do as he asked.

As soon as Charlie was out of earshot, Miles turned to face Bass. "I swear to God, Bass, anything happens to Charlie, if I find that she's had so much as an uncomfortable moment because of you –"

"Yeah, I get it, Miles," Bass replied coolly. "I'm not stupid. I can't take these Patriots out by myself. I want your help, I take care of Charlie. Simple as that."

Miles stared at his friends, his eyes searching Bass' face. "Yeah," he finally agreed. "Simple as that." He turned and beckoned to Charlie before facing Bass again. "We'll meet you at the cabin tonight. All you have to do is sit tight, make sure she rests as much as possible, and keep a close eye on her. I don't want you leaving her alone, got it?"

Before Bass could answer Charlie was next to him. "I'm ready."

Miles led her around the horse and gently helped her to mount, making sure she had moved up as far as possible so that Bass could climb up behind her. Charlie sat stiffly as bass settled in and slid his arms around her waist to grip the reins. Miles rested his hand on Charlie's leg and gave a little squeeze. "See you tonight, kid." He shifted his eyes to Bass and his faze sharpened. "Stop if she needs to, Bass. Don't push it."

Bass nodded tightly, gathered up the reins, and kicked his horse into motion. Miles forced himself to turn around to face Rachel and Gene. "Alright, you two," he said briskly. "Let's get started."

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Charlie attempted to hold herself away from Bass, reluctant to allow any more contact than absolutely necessary. Between her ribs, her exhaustion, and the infection raging through her body, however, she wasn't able to keep it up for long. She slowly relaxed into the motion of the cantering horse and tentatively rested her back against Bass' chest. She felt him tense behind her and his fingers gripped the reins so tightly his knuckles were white. "Relax, Monroe," she called back wryly. "You're perfectly safe from me." Charlie thought she felt a huff of breath against her hair but, then again, she might have just imagined it.

Other than that brief interaction, if it could even be called that, the miles and hours passed in silence. The sun began its slow descent into the West and still they rode. Though occasionally slowing to a walk, Bass hadn't allowed them to stop and Charlie didn't ask him to. More than anything else, she just wanted to for this interminable ride to end, get to the cabin and put some distance between herself and Sebastian Monroe. The horse stumbled a bit, his exhaustion evident, and Charlie stifled a moan as her ribs protested the sudden movement. Bass tightened his arms around her as he checked the horse. "Not much farther," he told her. "Just over the next rise." Charlie nodded in acknowledgement, grateful that the end was finally in sight.

Less than half an hour later, Bass reined the horse in and slid from its back. Charlie took a moment to examine their new refuge. It was a log cabin, one level, with a stone fireplace rising above the slate roof on a far side of the building. She glanced down and saw Bass standing beside the horse, waiting to help her dismount. Gritting her teeth, Charlie slowly swung her leg over the pommel and slid down the side of the horse. Bass, aware that her ribs were still tender and her shoulder enflamed, gripped her hips and stepped forward so that she was trapped between the horse and his body, cutting off the chance that she might stumble. Charlie landed gently, her hands resting on his arms and she glanced up to find his face disconcertingly near her own. For an endless moment they stared at each other until Bass dropped his hands and moved back. He stepped around Charlie and grabbed the saddlebags and their bedrolls.

"Come on," he said as he walked towards the cabin. "You look like you're going to drop."

Charlie followed him slowly and made her way up the front stairs. She walked through the front door and stopped to take a good look at the cabin. From what she could tell, it hadn't been abandoned for long. There was a thick coat of dust on everything, of course, though some of the dust was streaked, a sign of Bass' presence just the night before. The windows were all intact, though she could see ivy creeping up along the edges of the glass. The fireplace bore the blacked remains of Bass' fire so she was assuming the flue was clear. Charlie was about to explore further when Bass emerged from the hallway dragging a sagging mattress.

"What are you doing?" Charlie asked, confused.

Bass remained silent as he dropped the mattress in front of the fireplace and turned to disappear down the hallway again. Moments later he was back with . . . Charlie blinked. Was that a pillow? She almost moaned in delight. Bass tossed it onto the mattress and turned to grab one of the bedrolls. He unfurled the blanket on top of the mattress and looked at Charlie expectantly. She stared back at him.

"Lay down," Bass finally told her, his tone as flat as ever. "It's going to be too cold in the bedroom tonight. You'll have to sleep here." He turned and walked towards the door. "I'll get some firewood." Before Charlie could answer he was out the door and closed it behind him.

Charlie shook her head and walked over to the mattress, lowering herself gingerly to its softness. Oh, it felt marvelous after weeks of sleeping on nothing but a blanket spread on the hard, unforgiving ground. She sighed as she allowed herself to sink into the mattress, her head resting on the pillow. Charlie was asleep before she even realized her eyes were closing.

Bass finally returned to the cabin, his arms loaded with firewood, and stopped short in the doorway. Charlie was huddled in the middle of the mattress, her head spread out on the pillow and her face, relaxed in sleep, finally wiped clean of tension and pain. She must have been completely exhausted, he told himself. She hadn't even taken the time to get under her blanket, sleeping on top of it instead. Bass crept into the room and gently set the wood next to the fireplace. He'd wait to light it until he woke her up to eat, he decided, and grabbed his own bedroll and gently spreading it over Charlie's sleeping form. He knelt next to the mattress for a long moment as his eyes traced her features, a slight frown marring his brow. Charlie shifted on the mattress and he jerked to his feet. The last thing he needed was for her to wake up and find him staring at her. Bass retreated a few steps and grabbed his rifle, turning to make sure the door was secure. He finally took a seat on the sagging sofa, resting the gun across his lap, and rested his head on an upraised fist. Eventually his eyes drifted closed and he allowed himself to doze.

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Bass jerked awake, his hands gripping his gun as he scanned the room for whatever had roused him. He stood to check the door, his eyes peering into the growing dimness for any sign of an intruder. A gasping cry broke the silence and he whirled to face the threat, only to find himself looking at a still-sleeping Charlie as she writhed on the mattress. Another nightmare, he told himself as he loosened his fingers around the gun. Bass walked silently towards her and knelt down to wake her. Just before his hand covered her parted lips, he paused. She had said his name the last time she had been in the grip of her terrifying dream. The memory of her tormented whisper still haunted him. Bass drew back his hand and sat on the floor next to Charlie's bed. He'd wake her if it got too bad, he thought. But he couldn't just yet. He had to know what was haunting her, why he was involved, and he was afraid if he asked her . . . Charlie cried out softly and Bass clenched his hands together to keep from reaching out to her. Just a few minutes, he told himself. He just had to know.

He would later recall those minutes sitting by Charlie's bed as she struggled against her unseen tormenter as some of the longest of his life. Her neck arched back against the pillow, her face contorted in agony as she was gripped in the horror of her nightmare. Bass felt drops of sweat trickle down his back, so desperately did he fight against his impulse to wake her. Finally, just when he could stand the strangled gasps and sobs no more and reached out to touch her, her lips parted and, in an agonized whisper, she began to speak: "No, please, no more . . . I won't . . . Bass, no . . . won't tell you . . . Bass, run . . . get you . . ." Tears raced down her temples and dampened her hair as her head twisted from side to side. "Miles, I couldn't tell . . . they wanted . . . Bass . . . "

Bass was frozen in place, his hand still outstretched, as he listened to this litany of anguish pour from Charlie's lips. Oh, my God, he thought as he looked down at her. Had she . . . No, it was impossible to believe that, of all people, Charlotte Matheson had . . . _protected_ him? Was it even possible? A tremor ripped through him and he finally lowered his hand to her uninjured shoulder. Her eyes flew open at his touch and they darted frantically around the room before falling on Bass. She drew in heaving lungfuls of air as she looked at him, sitting so silently at her bedside, his face a mask of confusion and pain. She blinked in surprise at such a display of emotion, something she hadn't seen since she had tried to speak to him at Connor's gravesite.

"Charlotte," he said, drawing back his hand. "We need to talk."

Charlie froze and her eyes slid shut as she immediately realized what had brought about this change. The nightmare. She must have talked in her sleep. What had he heard? How did she explain this? Did she even want to? Charlie looked back at Bass, seeing his apprehension, his sadness and even, as incongruous as it might seem, his fear. It was the fear that broke her. In that instant, Charlie realized that Miles had been right. She did need to confront the consequences of her decision to shield Bass. And, as painful and uncomfortable and just plain scary as it might be, it had to be with him.

"Yes," Charlie agreed quietly. "I think we do."

**AN: I'm sorry! First I'm sorry for taking so long to update. This chapter absolutely kicked my backside. I just COULD NOT get it written. Transition chapters are the worst. And I'm sorry for cutting it off just when the conversation was going to happen but I felt like that deserves its own chapter. Please excuse any mistakes. After the Herculean struggle to get this sucker finished, I just wanted to post it and have it done! As always, reviews/comments are most welcome and thanks for reading! **


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Charlie pushed herself up from the mattress and slowly rose to her feet. Bass lifted his hand as if to help her but she flinched from his touch. His fingers curled into a fist at her rejection and his hand dropped back to his side. Charlie felt a momentary twinge of regret at her involuntary action but she just . . . couldn't bear to be touched. Waves of tension flooded through her and felt as though the slightest brush of his skin against hers would cause her to shatter. Charlie lowered herself to sit on the end of the sofa, hands gripped tightly in her lap. Bass stood across the room from her and propped his shoulder against the smooth stone of the fireplace. The roaring silence stretched on, both dreading what was to come, until Bass finally spoke.

"You said my name the last time," he told her roughly. "I thought . . . from the way you sounded, I thought you might have been dreaming that . . . I was the one hurting you."

Shocked, Charlie's head jerked up to look at Bass, his face white and drawn as he waited for her answer. Slowly, Charlie shook her head. "No," she finally told him. "It wasn't you."

"I realized that tonight," he replied as he stared at her, his eyes fixed on her face with a terrible intensity. "Charlotte, I have my own idea about what might have happened in that tent, but it's so . . . incredible that I can't quite bring myself to believe it."

"What is it?"

"I think that you were tortured for protecting me." His eyes were almost desperate on her face as he waited for her answer. "Please, Charlotte," he said raggedly, "for God's sake, tell me that isn't what happened."

Charlotte closed her eyes and leaned back against the sofa. "The Patriots recognized my mount," she began. "They knew that I was one of the 'terrorists'." She sneered on the last word, her disgust at the Patriots plain. "I held them off as long as I could but eventually I ran out of arrows. They didn't have to beat me," she said calmly, almost pensively, and was so engrossed in the memory that she missed his look of unbridled fury that flashed across his face. "I was already down," she said as she gestured to her shoulder and leg, "but I had put an arrow in their captain and I think they were a bit . . . annoyed." A smile flitted across her face at the memory of Mason reeling in his saddle as the arrow struck, falling backwards off his horse and landing in a boneless heap in front of his stunned soldiers. "I can't remember much after they got to me. The next thing I knew, I was waking up tied to a chair and . . ." Charlie's tongue stumbled a bit, as if reluctant to form the words that had to follow but she forced herself to keep going. "Parker was there. The tent was filled with officers. And then he started talking." Charlie couldn't suppress the quick shiver that traveled through her body and Bass saw it, a muscle twitching in his cheek as he held himself in check. "I thought Parker was just going to ask me where the rest of you were, where we were camped, what kinds of weapons we had, things like that. But . . . he didn't." Charlie swallowed heavily and passed a trembling hand over her eyes. "And when I wouldn't answer his questions, he started using his cigarette on me," she said bluntly. The calm of her voice, however, was belied by the way her breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes slid closed and she pressed icy fingertips against them.

Long moments passed and still Charlie sat silent. When he finally couldn't take it any more, he spoke. "What did he want?" Bass already knew what the answer would be; he was terrified to hear it and yet unable to keep from asking the question.

Charlie raised bruised eyes to meet his, her gaze unwavering. "You," she replied simply. "He wanted me to give him you."

Bass flinched but kept his eyes on hers, his face starkly pale. "You're going to have to explain that a little better, Charlotte," he told her, his voice surprisingly calm.

"Parker wanted me to tell him where you could be found," she answered bluntly. "He promised that the rest of us would be free to go if I helped him capture you."

"And you refused."

"Yes."

"He continued to . . . question you."

"Yes."

"How?"

Charlie finally shifted her eyes from his. "You've seen for yourself," she said calmly. "I know you helped Grandpa patch me up after you got me out of the camp."

Bass could feel his heart start to pound, his suspicions now terribly confirmed. "God damn you, Charlotte," he gritted out between clenched teeth. Her gaze shot up to him and she sat, her eyes wide and bruised with fatigue, stunned at the intensity of his anger. "Why the hell wouldn't you just tell them?" he blazed as he paced before her. "One _fucking_ word and the pain and suffering would have been over!"

"Mine or yours?"

Bass stopped abruptly in front of her, his lips white. "What are you talking about?"

Charlie rose and walked towards him. "You know exactly what I mean." She stopped in front of him and her eyes locked on his. "It would be so easy, wouldn't it, Monroe?" she murmured. "Everything would be erased. The memories of everyone you've hurt or betrayed or lost. You wouldn't have to fight anymore, not Miles or me or yourself. Death would have taken that all away."

"Shut up, Charlotte." His voice was tormented, his eyes furious as they burned into hers.

"It's the truth, isn't it?" she pushed relentlessly. "The Patriots would have raided the camp. As the great Sebastian Monroe, you would have gone down fighting. But eventually, it would have been over. Are you really that much of a coward?"

"Goddamn it, shut your mouth!" he raged, a flush of rage flooding his face.

"Make me," she taunted him.

His hand shot out and hard fingers wrapped around her throat. "I could do it," he warned her softly, dangerously. "You know I could."

"No," she contradicted, "I don't. But go ahead and try."

They stood there staring at each other, Charlie pale but calm and Bass trembling as if in the grips of a terrible fever. His fingers tensed on the soft skin of her throat and, suddenly, he whirled away from her, cursing long and fluently.

"Why didn't you just turn me in?" Bass shouted, his back to her. "You have more reason than most to want me dead. For God's sake, why –" His voice broke and he had to take a moment to get himself under control. "Why would you go through that kind of hell?"

Charlie moved to stand beside him and he turned his head away. Charlie studied his grim profile and shrugged her uninjured shoulder. "Because you're not that man anymore."

Bass barked out a rough laugh and threw his hands up. "So now _you're_ the one that's delusional."

"No, that's still you," she retorted smartly. Charlie moved to stand in front of him, though Bass still avoided her gaze. "I'm not going to lie," she told him. "I've dreamed about killing you." Unable to help himself, Bass found himself turning to face her and the corners of her mouth tilted up, barely a smile. "Often," she added. "And every time it happened, I remember the feeling of . . ." Charlie paused, searching for the right word. "Peace," she finally said quietly. "That and relief that you were gone. And that I had been the one to end you. It got to be so that killing you was the only thing I thought of. I came so close, too. I almost had you in New Vegas." Charlie saw him start at that bit of information. "If that bounty hunter hadn't tackled you, my arrow would have gone right in your ear. I would have had my justice and the world would have been rid of the great President Monroe."

"If you felt that way, why didn't you let the Patriots have me?" Bass exclaimed incredulously. "It was your perfect chance – be ride of me and live in peace with your family. It was offered to you on a silver platter."

"I told you," Charlie insisted stubbornly.

"Right," Bass scoffed as he shook his head. "I've changed. And you let that sick son of a bitch _torture_ you, put his hands on you, because you think that the man you saw as basically Satan on earth is now . . . what? My God, it wasn't even two weeks ago that you told me that I was a monster and now, all of a sudden, I'm worth saving! I mean, really, Charlie, what exactly do you think I am?"

Charlie considered him for a moment, her forehead wrinkled in thought. "I think you've been lost," she answered simply. "I think over the past months, since the Tower and New Vegas, you've started to remember who you used to be. No, don't turn away from me!" she told him, grabbing his arm and bringing him back to face her. "You wanted to know why I didn't turn you in, so I'm telling you. As much as I _hate_ who you used to be and what you did to my family and to so many others, I couldn't forget all the times that you saved my life. You saved me in the Tower and from those sick, disgusting animals who tried to rape me. You had a chance to leave me in the high school andto escape with your life, but you came back to help me. You allowed your own son to whip you just so he wouldn't be hurt. And you told him how to kill you to save his life." Charlie saw how his face blanched at the mention of Connor and his mouth worked as he tried to speak.

"How did you know about that?" he finally rasped.

"Connor told me," Charlie replied gently. "He knew how sorry you were for the way things had turned out and he was grateful that –"

"I'm not talking about Connor, Charlotte," Bass bit out. "I mean it."

"Bass, his death wasn't your fault."

Bass stumbled away and whirled to face her. "Of course it was my fault!" he shouted brokenly. "I sent him to those gates! I should have gone instead and let Miles get you. If I had –"

"If you had, then you'd have seen Connor die right in front of you," Charlie finished, hating herself for being so harsh.

"No!" Bass protested. "I could have saved him. I know I could have done . . . something!"

"Bass, the charge went off early. There was nothing you could have done to change it."

"You don't understand, Charlotte," Monroe told her bitterly. "How could you?"

Charlotte felt anger boiling up inside of her, the rush suddenly leaving her dizzy and she swayed. Bass leapt to catch her and she pushed him away. "How could I understand?" she ground out. "You're actually asking me that? My father, my brother, Maggie, Nora – they're all _dead_, Monroe! They died right in front of me and you think I . . ." She moved away to lean her burning forehead against the coolness of the stone fireplace.

The silence was broken only by their harsh breathing, each wrestling to rein in their emotions. "We shouldn't be doing this," Bass said dully. "There's no point. And you're too sick to really know what you're saying."

"Don't dismiss me like that," Charlie said hoarsely, turning to face him. "I know exactly what I'm saying and what I mean. Don't make me regret saving you."

Bass' legs seemed to give out and he sat heavily on the sofa, his head resting in his hands. "Charlie, there's nothing to save."

Charlie hesitated for a moment and then crossed over to sit next to him. "If I had believed that, I would have given Parker what he wanted the moment I woke up in that tent. No one is more surprised to hear this from me than I am but over the past months you've found your conscience again, Bass, and you've started to care. It's why you came after me all those times, why you followed me to the river. You risked your life _again_ to get me out of the Patriot camp. There is good in you, Monroe." She hesitated, but steeled herself for how he was bound to react. "Don't dishonor Connor's memory by making him responsible for you falling apart. It can't be like last time."

Monroe slowly turned his head to look at Charlie and she was floored by the pain she saw in his eyes. "What do you know about 'last time'?" he rasped.

Charlie shook her head slowly. "Miles told me that he had seen you like this once before and that it had pushed you over the edge. That's all."

"Oh, that's all?" Monroe repeated incredulously. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "He had no business saying anything about it."

"It was the car crash, wasn't it?"

"My God, you're really out for your pound of flesh today, aren't you, Charlotte?" Bass asked as he slumped wearily against the back of the sofa. "Dissecting my character, telling me you basically allowed yourself to be carved up to protect me, bringing up my son. Now this."

"I'm trying to help you, Bass," Charlie said softly as she stared at her clasped hands.

"Why?"

"Because you deserve more than to lose yourself again. And so does Connor." She gently reached over and covered one of his hands with hers. Bass was rigid with shock but slowly, very slowly, he began to relax. Moving tentatively, his hand turned and grasped Charlie's. She released the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and waited for him to speak.

"It wasn't –" Bass voice trembled as he spoke and broke off, roughly clearing his throat. "It wasn't the car accident. After the blackout, I was married." Charlie's hand flinched in his but he didn't notice it, trapped in his remembered pain. "At least, as married as you could get in all that chaos. Her name was Shelley." Bass smiled softly and Charlie was shocked at the tenderness on his face when he said her name. "She was beautiful, smart, funny. We . . . loved each other very much. And when Shelley told me she was pregnant, we were absolutely over the moon. It never occurred to either of us that something could go wrong. Yeah, we were living in a tent, in a camp surrounded by random people, pretty much alone except for Miles, but we were young and healthy. And stupid." He sighed deeply and passed his free hand over his eyes. "The pregnancy was normal. Shelley felt great. She never even had morning sickness. Miles found out that a woman in the camp had been a midwife so we asked her to check out how Shelley was doing. She said that everything was progressing well. I remember that the baby was so active," he said softly as he remembered those happier days when he still had hope. "After the seventh month, I could even see the outline of a foot in Shelley's belly when the baby kicked. It was incredible." Bass swallowed thickly and Charlie squeezed his hand, her throat aching with unshed tears for what she knew was coming. "When her labor started, I ran to get the midwife. She came right away and said that she was pleased with how Shelley was doing; we thought everything was fine. Between contractions, we talked about who the baby would look like and what names we had decided on. One minute we were looking forward to being a family and the next, Shelley was screaming like she was being torn apart. The midwife wanted towels and fresh water so I ran outside and sent Miles to get them. I was outside of the tent for twenty, maybe thirty seconds. When I went back in, Shelley was unconscious and there was blood everywhere. It was pouring out of her. I could tell from the midwife's face that it was bad but, even then, I wouldn't allow myself to think that I might lose either of them." He shook his head and Charlie saw his lips tremble. "So stupid. Shelley bled out in minutes and all I could do was hold her and beg her not to go. The midwife tried to save the baby as soon Shelley died. I sat there . . . and watched her cut into my wife's body. She pulled the baby out and tried to resuscitate her but it was too late. My daughter was dead." He sat in silence as he remembered and Charlie simply sat next to him gripping his cold hand. She almost jumped when he spoke again. "Miles . . . saved my life," he murmured. "I would have killed myself if he hadn't been there. Maybe it would have been better if I had."

"No," Charlie said forcefully. "It wouldn't."

Bass raised haunted eyes to hers. "Charlie, Miles and I started the Republic after Shelley died. I couldn't stand the filth and the disorder and the _helplessness _anymore, so we decided to do something about doesn't matter that we started the Republic to bring order out of chaos or that we wanted to make sure people were protected and provided for. How many people would be alive today if Miles had just let me . . . end it before it even started?"

"How many people would be alive if it hadn't been for my parents?" Charlie asked. She looked at him until he raised his eyes to hers. "Nobody's hands are clean in this, Bass," she told him grimly. "You, Miles, my mom, you all have a lot to make up for. But you aren't the only one to blame." She looked down at their joined hands and her chin trembled. Charlie shook her head and got a hold of herself. "We're all just wandering around in the dark, Bass. It's up to us whether or not we let the dark inside."

Bass stared at her, disbelief warring with hope. "Charlie – " he rasped, but the words seemed caught in his throat.

"You have a choice, Bass," she insisted, her eyes intent on his. "Please."

"What changed, Charlie?" he whispered. "How did you suddenly go from seeing me as a monster just a couple of weeks ago to sacrificing so much for me?"

Charlie bit her lip and looked away. It would be so easy to make up an answer, she realized. But he had given her honesty. She could do no less. "I was angry when I said that, Bass. I wanted to lash out at everyone. Especially you. Not because I blamed you anymore. And I think that was the biggest reason for what I said." She pulled her hand from his and stood, moving away from him as she struggled to find the best way to explain herself.

"I wasn't lying when I said that I felt like my hate was all I had left," Charlie admitted. "But . . . I was having a hard time admitting to myself that I didn't hate you anymore. I definitely still hated who you had been and what you had done. But not _you_, not the man who stood in front of me and offered me comfort when I was at my worst. It was difficult for me to reconcile those feelings, to admit that I had actually . . . started to care. To believe in you." Charlie felt dampness on her cheeks and realized with a start that she was crying. She heard the sofa creak as Monroe stood, listened to his footsteps as he moved to stand behind her, and moments later felt the warmth of his body at her back. She shivered in reaction and turned to face him, raising her eyes to his. "I finally had to face it when Parker asked me to turn you over. Please," she whispered, "don't make it for nothing." Charlie grasped his shirt, twisting the fabric in her fingers. "Don't go back to what you were."

Bass stared down at her lovely, tear-streaked face and he felt something inside him break. He raised his hands and gently smoothed the tears from her cheeks. "I promise," he murmured. Slowly, gently, Bass drew her closer and slid his arms around her shoulders, careful to avoid her wound. Charlie allowed her hands to slide around his waist, her breath shallow and fast, until she rested against Bass' chest. Suddenly she relaxed into him, nestling her face in the hollow of his neck, and sighed.

**AN: So there you have it - the big conversation:) I hope it delivered! Thank you so much for your continued interest in my story and the fantastic reviews that you've submitted. You're all amazing and I can't tell you how much I appreciate the support! As always, reviews are most welcome. I can't wait to hear what you think of this latest chapter. XOXO**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

As the rapidly dimming light threw everything within the cabin into shadow, the two figures standing in the middle of the room, wrapped snugly in each other's arms, seemed to meld into one. Bass rested his cheek against Charlie's mussed curls, his lips just touching her temple, and his eyes slid closed at this long-forgotten feeling of peace. He dimly marveled that Charlotte Matheson should be the one to bring it to him and shifted to bring her closer into the curve of his body. Abruptly he stilled and a frown furrowed his brow. He drew back slightly and peered down at Charlie's face in the fading light. He couldn't see much and smiled at how she had burrowed her face into his neck but, in the next moment, the smile faded as he noticed with growing concern how her cheek seemed unnaturally flushed. Bass pressed his lips fore firmly against the soft skin at her temple and felt the first hint of panic twist low in his stomach.

"Charlotte," he murmured as he brought a hand up to stroke her hair. When she didn't react, he repeated her name with a little more urgency. Charlie slid her head back on his shoulder and blinked several times as if to clear her vision.

"What's wrong?" she asked as she peered up at him.

"You're burning up," Bass told her as brushed a gentle hand across her hot cheek. "How do you feel?"

Charlie raised her head from his shoulder. "I don't feel any diff-" Suddenly a confused look crossed her face and her eyes slid shut. She slumped against Bass with a soft gasp and he reflexively tightened his grip on her.

"Charlotte!"

"I'm OK," she assured him, her voice shaking. "I . . . got a little light-headed for a minute."

"Alright, just hold on," he told her right before Charlie felt as if the room were tipping and she found herself swept up in Bass' arms. She caught her breath in surprise and then relaxed as he carried her the few steps that separated them from the mattress. Bass knelt, his arms tensing around her as he held her tight against his chest, and then gently placed her on the mattress. Charlie eyes slammed closed at another wave of dizziness and she felt her head slide from his shoulder to the softness of the pillow.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered as she opened her eyes, frustration lending an unexpected sharpness to her words. "This is ridiculous. I feel like such a wimp."

Concern battled with amusement within Bass and, for a moment, amusement won. He chuckled softly as he leaned back to snag a canteen from the jumbled pile of their belongings by the sofa. "Yeah," agreed sardonically. "A real wimp. Totally pathetic." He unscrewed the cap and slid an arm behind her shoulders, lifting her up to rest against him as he held the canteen to her lips. "Don't be an idiot, Charlotte."

Charlie gulped the water greedily, suddenly realizing how parched she was. When she had drunk her fill she slid from his grasp and settled her head back on the pillow. "I'm not being an idiot," she griped, though the flash of her dimples as she tried not to smile took any sting out of her tone.

"You're sick," Bass reminded her. "And, though you do your best to make everyone else forget it, only human." He rose to his feet and walked towards their belongings, bending to pick up the gun and both canteens, then heading past Charlotte towards the back of the house.

"Where are you going?" Charlie asked sharply as she turned to watch him.

"I put the horses in the garage out back and need to check on them. And there's an old well out back," Bass replied as he slung both canteen straps over his shoulder. "The water's clean and cold. I tried it yesterday and haven't gotten sick. You need to drink to flush your system and we need to try and keep your fever down." He glanced back at her and smiled reassuringly as he walked into the dark hallway. "I'll be right back."

Charlie's eyes lingered on the doorway he had passed through and she exhaled sharply. The sudden shift in their relationship was finally hitting her and she couldn't quite wrap her mind around the fact that she – no, _they – _had allowed themselves to be so open with each other. It felt . . . good, she acknowledged. More than good. She felt the way she had when Bass had picked her up – disoriented, off balance, and yet completely safe at the same time. Charlie didn't allow herself to entertain any illusions. She wasn't quite sure how to define this new point in their relationship or the feelings that she had finally forced herself to acknowledge. Neither of them were what other people might call easy, and they both still had a hell of a lot of baggage to deal with. But now, Charlie felt like maybe they didn't have to face any of that on their own.

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After making sure the horses were secure, Bass hurried across the cabin's overgrown backyard and stopped to life the metal lid off of the mouth of the well. He found the battered plastic bucket where he had left it the night before and lowered it into the damp darkness by the fraying rope attached to its handle. He was shocked to notice that his hands were trembling and he released a shuddering breath as he fully felt the enormity of what had just happened. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone believe in him that much. Or to trust him the way Charlie had. It was, Bass admitted to himself, a serious responsibility but he didn't feel burdened by it. On the contrary, he felt strengthened because of it. Bass pulled the bucket back up and filled both canteens, then refilled the bucket again, taking all three back into the house. That should give them plenty of water, he thought. No need to go back out again until morning. Night was rapidly falling and he didn't want to leave Charlotte any more than was absolutely necessary.

Bass walked silently through the kitchen and stopped to check the drawers for a towel or cloth that he could use to keep Charlie cool. He had to force himself to suppress a shout of victory when he found an old dishrag stuffed into the back of the last drawer. Beating it against his leg to remove any dust, Bass made his way through the hall to the front room. He frowned when he found Charlotte staring blankly into space and set his burden down to stand in front of her.

"You OK?" Bass asked as he knelt by the mattress. Charlie started and looked up at him, tension evident in the rigidity of her body. "Charlotte?"

Charlie forced herself to relax and tried to smile reassuringly at Bass. "Fine," she answered with an attempt at lightness. It failed miserably.

Bass cocked an eyebrow as he dipped the cloth in the bucket of water and wrung the excess out before folding it and placing it gently on Charlie's forehead. She hissed at the sudden cold but then sighed at the relief it brought. "You need to rest," Bass told her seriously. "You have to be exhausted."

Charlie's eyes opened slowly and she bit her lip. "I –" she started but stopped, giving her head a slight shake.

"C'mon, Charlotte," Bass encouraged, a trace of irony in his voice. "I think we're past the point where we have to worry about telling each other things." Her eyes darted back to his, wide and surprised, and, slowly, she smiled.

"Yeah," she agreed softly. "I guess we have."

Bass nodded in encouragement and Charlie forced herself to keep her gaze firmly on his face. "I'm . . . afraid," she admitted, almost in a whisper.

Bass frowned. "Afraid of what?"

"Of falling asleep," she replied and then turned her face away as if ashamed of the admission.

"Charlotte –"

"Every time I let myself sleep," she continued rapidly, "I'm back in that tent and I can _feel_ everything he did. I can feel his breath on my ear and smell my skin burning when he . . ." Bass made a choked sound and Charlie's head whipped back to see him cover his eyes with his hand.

"Charlotte, I'm so sorry," he told her, his voice raw.

"No, Bass," she insisted immediately, rising up on her elbow and reaching out to gently uncover his face. "It wasn't your fault. It was _his_. Parker is the one who hurt me, not you. Tell me you know that."

Bass looked down at Charlie, so wounded and weak but with that mule-stubborn look on her face and, in spite of himself, he almost smiled. He clasped her worryingly dry, hot hand in his. "What are the odds that you'll lay back down and take it easy if you don't get the answer you want?"

"I mean it."

Bass clenched his jaw and looked away for a long moment. "Alright," he finally agreed, turning back to her. "It wasn't my fault."

Charlie slowly lowered herself back to the mattress and sighed. "I'm choosing to believe you," she told him wryly. Bass reached out to adjust the blanket, bringing it higher over her breasts though one arm remained outside of the cover to lie within his reach.

"I know you don't want to, but you have to sleep," Bass told her, ignoring her comment.

"I'll just have another nightmare," Charlie argued wearily. Bass rose suddenly and she watched as he walked back into the kitchen. She heard the sound of something being dragged and then he was back, checking to make sure the door was secure, setting his weapons and ammunition next to the mattress and then pulling the cushions off of the sofa. Charlie watched, bemused, as he stacked the cushions next to her, making a kind of seat for himself. He settled himself on his makeshift easy chair and rested his rifle across his knees.

Bass reached out and gently removed the now-warm cloth from her forehead. "You're not going to have another nightmare," he said confidently as he re-dampened the towel and returned it to its former resting place.

"I'm not?"

"No."

"How do you know that?" she asked, intrigued in spite of herself.

Bass took her hand in his and gripped it gently. "I won't let it happen."

Charlie felt her heart squeeze at the earnestness of his words and returned the pressure of his hand with hers. "The great Sebastian Monroe," she murmured. "I might almost believe it."

"No almost about it," he told her. "Go to sleep, Charlotte. You'll be alright." He moved to take his hand away only for her fingers to tighten.

"Stay," she asked him, even as the heaviness of her exhaustion began to force her eyes to slide closed.

Bass looked down at their joined hands, her fingers clasped around his thumb while his lightly caressed the soft skin on the back of her hand. "Yes, Charlotte," he murmured as she slid into sleep. "I'll stay."

The cabin was soon plunged into inky blackness but Sebastian didn't dare light one of the pieces of candle that he had tucked away in his saddlebag. Even a small light would shine like a beacon through the cabin windows and into the darkness. There was no telling who might be passing by and the last thing he wanted was to draw attention to their fragile refuge. The moon would rise soon, he reminded himself, and then there would be a little light. Until then, Bass sat listening to the sounds of the night, trying to pick out any noise that might tell him that riders were approaching. Where the hell were they? Charlie murmured in her sleep and Bass stiffened, leaning closer to discern if she needed to be awakened. No, he realized quickly and with a deep sense of relief. Not a nightmare. Her breathing remained even, if worryingly fast, and her hand lay still and quiet in his. Bass used his free hand to dip the cloth into the well water and return in to Charlie's burning skin. She was so deeply asleep that even the coolness of the towel didn't cause her to stir. Bass frowned as his hand brushed across her cheek. Did her fever seem higher? He swore silently and glared at the door as if willing Rachel, Miles and Gene to walk through it. If everything had gone according to plan, they should have been here just after sunset. What if something had happened? He knew what had to be done to save Charlie. Hell, he had done it a couple of times himself to men who had been wounded while fighting alongside him. But could he do it to Charlie? Could he cut away her flesh while she screamed in agony? Could burn the wound to keep her from bleeding to death? Bass shuddered and forced the thought from his mind. They would come, he assured himself as he tightened his grip on Charlie's hand and settled back into the sofa cushions. They had to.

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Charlie woke just before dawn and grimaced as she opened her eyes. Her head felt . . . thick and, dear God, her mouth was so dry. "Bass?" she rasped as she turned her head to find him.

"Right here, Charlotte," he assured her as her eyes met his. "It's OK." Bass lifted her against him and held the canteen to her lips. As thirsty as she was, she could only manage a few swallows before dizziness forced her to lie back down. Bass ran the cool cloth over her face and down her neck, trying to prevent his concern from showing on his face.

"I'm getting worse, Bass," she said softly. His head jerked up in surprise and he stared down at her, tempted to deny her words but he quickly realized that he couldn't do that. She'd know he was lying and, even if she didn't, he wasn't going to insult her by not telling her the truth.

"I know," Bass replied tightly. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he clenched his teeth together. "I'm going to beat the shit out of Miles when he gest here," he swore roughly.

Charlie laughed, a soft gasp of sound and Miles tried to smile at her. "A lot has changed in the past twenty-four hours, Charlotte," he acknowledged. "But it'll be a cold day in hell before I become a pacifist."

"The thought never occurred to me," Charlie informed him seriously. The faint of gleam of laughter faded from her face and she reached over to lay her hand on his forearm. "Bass, you've seen wounds like this before. I'm sure you could –"

Bass pulled away from her and started shaking his head before she could even finish her sentence. "No, Charlotte," he declared in a tone that would brook no disagreement. "I'm not coming anywhere near you with a knife. Don't ask me."

"Bass, please," Charlie said faintly as another wave of dizziness crashed over her. Her eyes slid shut and she swallowed thickly. She heard Bass shift swiftly and felt the touch of the damp cloth brush across her face. Forcing herself to open her eyes, Charlie found Bass' worried face hovering over her own. "If Grandpa doesn't get here soon, you'll have to."

Bass thrust his fingers into his hair and gripped the blond curls, resting his elbows on updrawn knees. "I know," he finally said in a shaking voice.

"Saving my life is getting to be a habit with you."

"Don't joke, Charlotte," Bass ground out. He felt her hand touch his arm and he immediately grasped it in one of his.

"I'm not," she insisted faintly. "You can do this. I know you can."

Bass jerked convulsively and gently lifted her hand to his lips, his own hand trembling around hers. Suddenly he lifted his head and started intently at the front door. Setting Charlie's hand down he slowly crept across the floor, careful to stay low enough so that he couldn't be seen through the windows by anyone approaching the cabin. Charlie watched as he slowly raised himself enough so that he could peek through the corner of a window and caught her breath as his head fell forward to rest on the sill.

"Thank God," he murmured brokenly before turning to face her. "They're here."

**AN: I want to make it clear that I am in NO WAY insulting pacifists with Bass' comment. It is a line that I felt was true to his character and nothing more.**

**I also want to send out another HUGE thank you to everyone who has read, favorited and followed my story. Special thanks go to everyone who has taken the time to leave a review. You have all be so supportive and encouraging - the reviews never fail to make me smile and they spur me on to write more. I am so grateful! I hope you have enjoyed Chapter 12. I'd love to hear from you about it!**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

**WARNING: Chapter contains graphic descriptions of a surgical procedure. **

Bass leapt to his feet and unblocked the door, throwing it open and rushing out before the three exhausted riders had pulled their horses to a halt. He charged right up to Miles stirrup, his face flushed with fury. "Where the _fuck_ have you been, Miles?" Bass fumed, crowding Miles as he dismounted. "Did you three forget why we needed to get to this cabin in the first place? You were supposed to be here _last night_ or did that slip your mind?"

"Don't be a complete asshole, Bass," Miles snapped, his face grey with fatigue. "We couldn't help the delay. Gene –" He broke off and slanted a look at Rachel and her father as they both worked to remove their gear from their horses. "Gene got a little . . . lost," Miles said in a low voice. "He didn't meet us at the rendezvous point so we had to go looking for him. Believe me, if we didn't need him to patch up Charlie, I probably would have left him. But we do, so there it is." He glanced at the open door and back at Bass, taking in the lines of strain on his face, and when he spoke his voice was rough with concern. "How is she?"

Bass shook his head sharply, his hands resting on his hips. "She's not good, Miles," he said grimly. "Her fever spiked last night and she can barely sit up for more than five seconds without looking like she's going to faint." Bass turned his attention to Rachel and Gene and he raised his voice to speak to them. "You need to move faster, old man. Get your ass in there, before I come over and drag you in. Charlotte needs you."

Rachel rushed into the cabin with the saddlebags and Gene followed close behind, glowering at Bass as he went. "Don't tell me what my granddaughter needs, Monroe," he growled. "You're the last person who would know anything about it." Gene disappeared inside the cabin before Bass could answer and he shook his head, turning back to Miles to find him watching the interaction with an odd look of speculation.

"Something seems to have changed since yesterday," Miles said thoughtfully. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

"We can talk after Charlotte's been taken care of," Bass replied shortly. "Come on, let's go in."

"In a minute," Miles protested. "We need to get these horses put away and I bagged us a deer on the way in. Not the best timing, but we needed it. Gimme a hand, will you?"

Bass glanced at the riderless horse and froze when he saw the dead deer's body slung across the saddle, limp and bloodied. It was terribly, eerily similar to . . . He felt his breath catch in his throat and tension invade his body. Connor.

Miles turned to speak to him and his eyes followed Bass' gaze. "_Shit_." He stepped in front of Bass and put a hand on his shoulder. "Bass, I'm sorry, I didn't even think –" Bass threw his hand off and turned away, his back rigid as he fought for control. Finally, he spoke.

"I'm alright." Bass turned walked over to Rachel and Gene's horses, gathering the reins and leading them past Miles towards the garage.

Miles watched Bass speculatively as he disappeared behind the cabin, then shook his head. Bass' story could wait. He had to get in to see his niece.

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"Charlie!" She turned her head towards the voice and she smiled wanly as she saw Gene, closely followed by Rachel, rush through the open doorway.

"Hey," Charlie replied, relief evident in her voice. "I'm really glad you're here."

Gene knelt next to her and immediately began unwrapping the bandage around her shoulder. His breath hissed through clenched teeth when the suppurating wound was revealed. Inflamed and oozing blood-streaked pus, its condition, and Charlie's, had deteriorated rapidly. Rachel, who had been kneeling on Charlie's other side and wiping her face with the now-tepid well water, glanced over when she heard her father's reaction and blanched. "Oh, Dad," she whispered as she raised stricken eyes to Gene's.

Gene glared at her and shook his head quickly. "Rachel, build up the fire," he told her briskly as he turned to rummage in his saddlebags. He glanced over at the bucket of water before turning his attention back to the sturdy leather pouches. "We're going to need fresh water. Find Bass, have him show you where to get it. And grab the cooking pot. Make sure it's clean and set some water to boil." Gene turned briefly to Charlie and passed a gentle hand over her tangled hair. "It's going to be OK, sweetheart," he assured her. His eyes snapped back to his daughter. "_Move_, Rachel."

Rachel jumped up, grabbed the bucket and raced through the front door. Shit, she thought frantically. Miles must have taken the horses to the back. She ran around the cabin just as Miles and Bass disappeared into the garage. As she prepared to follow them, she saw the covered well and gasped in relief. "Miles!" she called as the lowered the bucket. "Miles!" He appeared in the wide garage door. "The cooking pot! Grab it!" She turned to pull the bucket back up and suddenly Bass was at her side.

"I've got it," he told her briskly. "Go."

Rachel stared at him for the briefest of moments before she sprinted for the cabin, seeing the back door and shoving at it as she tried to go through.

"It's blocked. Come on, around front." Rachel followed Bass without question as they both hurried to the front, Miles right behind them with the rest of their belongings. The two men slid to a stop just inside the door as they got their first look at Charlie's shoulder.

"Did you know it was that bad?" Miles asked grimly. Bass shook his head, his eyes riveted to the scene before him.

"No," he replied dully. "I didn't want to mess with the bandages. I didn't have any to replace them with."

Gene had started to build up the fire while Rachel had been gone and soon it was burning steadily in the fireplace. He opened his leather instrument case and withdrew a slender scalpel, putting it in the fire, followed by two of Miles' heavy hunting knives. "Rachel, put the water on to boil. Miles," he glanced up at him briefly before returning his attention to Charlie's shoulder, "get one of my shirts and tears it into strips about three inches wide. And the other one, cut the sleeves off and give them to Rachel with the strips." Gene looked up to meet Charlie's eyes and he smiled comfortingly. "Charlie, we're going to get this taken care of," he promised. "First thing I'm going to do is draw as much of the infection out as I can. It –" He hesitated, his eyes dropping from hers.

"It's going to hurt. I know, Grandpa."

Gene nodded and grimaced. "Like hell, kiddo. I'm going to soak the fabric from my shirt in the water when it's just close to boiling and put it on the wound. That'll force the pus out and, hopefully, reduce the amount of cutting I'll have to do." He took her hand and squeezed. "Miles and Monroe are going to help you stay as still as possible through the whole thing," Gene told her gently. "Yell, curse, cry, whatever helps you get through it. But try not to fight against them too much. I don't want to take any healthy tissue. OK?"

Charlie nodded, her eyes seeking out Bass as he stood by the door. Bass' lips moved in a slight smile and he nodded, just the smallest movement of his head, but Miles saw it. His eyes widened as he looked from Bass to Charlie and back again. What the hell was that, he wondered, incredulously. Miles looked back at Charlie and his jaw tightened when he saw how weak she looked, how completely drained. Shit, he didn't have time to worry about Bass right now, he thought to himself. But after. Oh, that was going to be an entirely different thing.

"Dad." Gene turned to look over his shoulder at Rachel. "The water is ready."

"Good," Gene replied calmly. "Miles, are the shirts ready?"

"Yeah, here." Miles handed the strips and the torn sleeves to Rachel and she slid them into the steaming water, pressing them down with one of the knives sterilized in the fire. "Rachel, once we're done drawing out the infection I want you to put the shirt sleeves in the bucket of cold well water. We'll use them to cool the burn."

"Miles, Monroe, I'm going to need you to hold Charlie in place," Gene told them, gesturing to her uninjured shoulder and her legs. The crackling of the fire seemed unnaturally loud as the moved towards Charlie, Miles at her shoulder and Bass at her legs. "Be careful of the wound on her thigh, Monroe," Gene ordered him as he pulled out a pair of scissors to cut away Charlie's tank top. "Rachel, you're next to me. I'm going to need your help." He looked over at Miles. "Do you have any alcohol in your saddlebag, Miles? No, don't pretend to be confused. I need it to sterilize my hands. Do. You. Have. Any."

Miles rose, crossed to his saddlebag and pulled out a rolled-up shirt. He unfurled it and caught a small glass bottle that contained about an inch of clear liquid. "Moonshine," he said briefly, handing it over to Gene as he resumed his spot at Charlie's side. "Take the skin right off your hands, Gene."

Gene poured the alcohol into a cupped palm and briskly rubbed it over his hands and forearms. "Alright, Rachel, I'm going to want the strips fast. Ready?" Rachel nodded, her face starkly pale. He looked down at his granddaughter. "OK, Charlie?" Charlie clenched her teeth together and nodded. Miles and Bass leaned their weight against her as Rachel held out the knife, a strip of steaming fabric dangling from the tip. Gene grabbed it and quickly placed it on Charlie's shoulder.

Every resolution Charlie had made about staying still and silent evaporated the moment that fabric hit her mangled flesh. She arched sharply, a keening cry ripped from her lips. Miles and Bass struggled to keep her under control, both of them grim-faced and sick at the sight of her suffering. Bass was sorely tempted to look away but forced himself to keep his eyes on Charlie's face. Against his will, his mind had drifted back to Shelley. He had taken his eyes off of her for just a moment. That's all it had taken for everything to change. He wasn't looking away this time, he told himself. It wasn't going to happen again.

Time passed slowly and the minutes felt like hours as Gene kept changing the strips of cloth on Charlie's shoulder until they had all been used. As the last piece of soaked shirt was removed, Charlie went limp, her lungs pumping like bellows and her hair soaked with sweat. Gene quickly inspected the wound, which was so inflamed from the treatment that it was almost purple, but he nodded, pleased with the improvement. "You're doing great, Charlie," he told her as he gestured to Rachel for the scalpel. "We got a lot of the infection out. We're almost done, OK?" He looked at Miles and Bass, his eyes hard. "Hold her," he ordered them under his breath. Miles nodded, his mouth pinched and white. Bass swallowed hard and leaned more fully onto Charlie's legs. Gene bent over Charlie and began to cut.

The pain was so intense that Charlie couldn't even cry out. Her mouth flew open on a silent scream of agony and she bucked against the restraining hands with an almost inhuman strength. "Goddamit, hold her down!" Gene roared as he continued to work. Miles threw more of his weight onto her shoulder and clamped an arm across her stomach. Bass stretched across her legs and anchored her hips to the mattress with his hands. Suddenly, frighteningly, Charlie collapsed back onto the mattress and was completely still. "Rachel, check her," Gene barked, never taking his eyes from where he was cutting.

Rachel leaned over and placed trembling fingers on Charlie's wrist. She gasped in relief. "She's fainted."

"Thank God," Gene murmured. "I just hope she stays out until everything is finished. You two," he said to Miles and Bass without even glancing at them, "stay where you are, just in case she does wake up."

"How bad is it, Dad?" Rachel asked, her eyes intent on Charlie's still face.

"It hasn't reached the bone," he replied, his voice tight as he continued to remove dead and infected tissue. "If we had waited much longer, it would have been another story." Gene's skilled hands moved steadily, carefully, but as quickly as possible. Dear God, he wanted to finish before she regained consciousness. Please, he prayed silently, keep her asleep for a little bit longer.

Interminable minutes later, Gene straightened and wiped his bloodied hands on a rag from his saddlebag. "I got all of it," he announced gratefully. "Rachel, I need the knife. Hurry." Rachel wrapped the knife handle a cloth and handed it to her father, the blade so hot it was almost white. "She's going to feel this," he warned everyone just before he pressed the knife to her shoulder.

The pain wound its way through Charlie's unconsciousness and forced a broken moan from her lips, her body arching in reaction, though she remained blissfully unaware. Rachel retched as the odor of burning flesh filled the room, while Miles turned his face into his own shoulder, unable to watch as Gene seared the wound closed. Bass, however, kept his dry, tormented eyes on Charlie's face, looking for any flicker of wakefulness. When Gene was satisfied that the wound was sufficiently cauterized, he gestured to his daughter. "Rachel, give me the shirtsleeves." She handed him the cool, wet pieces of fabric and he placed them immediately on Charlie's shoulder. "As soon as this is cooled down, I need the honey and the rolled bandages from the saddlebag." He nodded at Miles and Bass. "You can let go," he told them wearily. "The worst is over."

"Is she going to be alright?" Bass rasped as he rocked back on his heels, his eyes never leaving Charlie's still form.

"We have to watch her for shock," Gene told them as he blotted the wound dry. "Keep her wrapped up, warm. You two need to go butcher that deer. She'll need broth. And firewood. We need to keep the fire going." He spared each of them a brief glance as he continued to work on Charlie. "Get going. You can't do any more for her in here."

Miles and Bass rose slowly and moved towards the back door. Bass paused in the doorway and looked back at Charlie. "She's going to be alright, man," Miles assured him. Bass nodded tightly and followed him out of the house.

**AN: I wanted to get this posted tonight because I have another project for grad school due on Thursday and, once again, have a ton to do for it. So . . . I probably won't be posting again until the end of the week:/ Please forgive any mistakes, as I was just really anxious to get this posted for you guys. I hope the chapter didn't gross anyone out too much but I felt like it was necessary for the progression of the story to see Charlie's suffering. As always, reviews are most welcome. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter. Thank you! XOXO**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Gene dug around in his saddlebags, then glanced up and looked around the room, his eyes searching for Bass and Miles. "Crap," me muttered. "Rachel, I collected some willow bark on the way here and must have left it hanging from my saddle horn to dry. Go out and get it, would you? As soon as Charlie wakes up I want to give her some willow bark tea. It'll help with her pain and the fever." Rachel hesitated, reluctant to leave her daughter's side. "Nothing is going to happen in the two minutes it will take you to get to the garage and back," Gene assured her gently. "I promise."

Rachel slowly rose to her feet, her gaze lingering on Charlie and her face pinched with worry. "OK," she agreed quietly. "But if she wakes up while I'm gone, yell for me, alright?"

She turned and raced through the kitchen for the back door, unwilling to be away from Charlie one minute more than she had to. As she approached the makeshift stable, she heard Miles and Monroe talking through the half-open door, their voices pitched low as if unwilling for anyone to overhear their conversation. As she drew closer, however, their words became clear and Rachel jolted to a stop, the blood rushing from her head, leaving her dizzy and reeling. No, she thought desperately. Please, God, don't let it be true.

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Miles and Bass were silent as they made their way to the garage, both lost in his own thoughts about Charlie. When they reached the horses, they moved together with the practiced ease of old friends, lifting the deer from the saddle and stringing it up over one of the structure's rafter. Miles started butchering the deer while Bass began removing the horses' saddles and rubbing them down. Finally, Miles managed to shake himself out his reverie and looked over at Bass.

"What the hell was that, Bass?" he asked calmly as he continued to skin his kill.

"What are you talking about?" Bass replied, never faltering in his movements.

Miles lowered his knife and turned, watching Bass carefully for reaction. "That look between you and Charlie right before Gene started working on her." He saw Bass falter for a moment and then continue moving the brush along the horse's smooth back.

"There was no look, Miles," he said calmly, a note of confusion in his voice. "I think you were imagining things."

Miles chuckled, though there was no humor in the sound. "I gotta hand it to you, man, if I didn't know you I would completely believe what you just said. But," he added grimly, "I _do_ know you. And so I know that you're full of shit. I can always tell when you're lying, remember?" He glared at Bass' back, as the man remained silent. "Answer me, damn it!" he finally snapped.

Bass slowly turned until he was facing Miles, his hands loose at his sides and a look of resignation on his face. "What do you want me to say, Miles?" he asked, resigned, and Miles huffed out an impatient breath. "No, really, how do you expect me to answer that?" Bass pressed. "If I tell you that I was just trying to give her encouragement, you'll just say that I'm lying. And if I say . . . what you're obviously expecting, you'll probably come at me with that knife. So _you_ tell _me_ what it is you think you saw."

"I think I saw you making googly eyes at my niece, Goddamit!"

"Seriously, Miles?" Bass asked, almost smiling. "Googly eyes? I feel like I should be asking to copy your algebra homework"

"Don't you dare try to brush this off, Bass," Miles ground out, his hand tight on the handle of the knife. "What the hell happened between the time you left with Charlie and when the rest of us got here?"

Bass' eyes were fixed to the knife clenched in Miles' hand. "Fine," he told him. "But I'm getting that itch in between my shoulder blades. The one that tells me that someone wants to plant a blade in my back. So put the knife down and we'll talk."

The thump of the knife hitting the concrete seemed magnified in the tense silence that stretched between the two men. "Alright, Bass," Miles said finally, nodding at the knife. "It's down. Now I want answers. What happened?"

Bass dropped the brush and ran a hand through his hair, his head lowered as he searched for the right words to explain to Miles the incredible change that had occurred between Charlie and himself. "I . . . don't know how to explain it," he began. "We really didn't speak during the ride to the cabin. Charlie was in no condition to have a conversation. Neither was I, to be honest. I just wanted to get here, put her in one room and myself in the other so we wouldn't have to deal with each other. I got her settled on the mattress and she fell asleep. She . . . started to have a nightmare. I knew she would. I've been waking her up before they get too bad for the past few days but this time . . . This time I didn't."

Miles managed to hide his shock at the news that Bass had been keeping such a close eye on Charlie and focused his lack of action. "You didn't wake her up . . . because she was talking in her sleep."

Bass' head jerked up in surprise and he frowned at Miles. "How did you know that?"

"Charlie told me right before you two left that she had been having nightmares. She was worried that she was going to say something in her sleep and . . . give away things she wasn't ready to talk about yet."

Realization flooded Bass and he took a step towards Miles, his eyes locked on his face to catch any change in expression. "You knew," he breathed and his face quickly flushed with anger. "You knew what happened and you didn't say anything? How could you not tell me, Miles?"

"In the first place, it was Charlie's choice whether or not to tell you!" Miles retorted harshly. "I think you'll agree she earned at least that." Bass flinched, his face going pale, but didn't answer. "In the second place, you were an absolute wreck. How, exactly, was I supposed to tell you that Charlie had been tortured for protecting you? And –"

Whatever Miles had been about to say was cut off by a roar of outrage as the garage door was thrown fully open and Rachel tore in, her face mottled with fury as she lunged at Bass.

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed and, before Miles could reach her, Rachel's arm swung and Bass' face snapped around as her fist made contact with his cheek. The three figures were frozen in a terrible tableau until Bass slowly brought his head back around and looked down at Rachel with eyes that were chillingly, menacingly flat. Rachel reached back to swing again but Bass' hand struck out and grabbed her wrist in a merciless grip.

"You only get one, Rachel," he said coldly as he started down at her. "Try that again and you won't like what happens."

Rachel wrenched away from him, too furious to be frightened, and sneered at him. "You think that scares me, Monroe? I got past being afraid of you years ago, you bastard. You took me from my family, you killed my husband and my son, you dragged Miles down into the filth with you and now –" She broke off as hysterical laughter bubbled up in her throat. "Now, I find out that you're the reason that Charlie was almost tortured to death? My God," she cried, her voice breaking, "haven't you taken enough from us? From her?" Her face was a frozen mask of hate and suddenly she lunged. "I'll kill you!"

Miles wrapped his arms around Rachel's body, banding his arms around her torso and trapping her arms at her side; he shook her harshly. "For God's sake, Rachel, enough!" he shouted as he struggled to hold her. Rachel abruptly went still and she turned her head to look at Miles. "And you," she whispered. "You knew? That's what you wouldn't tell me." Miles was silent and Rachel's head dropped, her chin resting on the arms that held her against Miles' chest . "At least have the courage to say it, Miles."

The stillness stretched interminably until Miles couldn't stand it anymore. "Yes," he admitted tersely. "I knew." Miles felt the fight drain out of Rachel and tentatively loosened his grip on her. She stepped away and moved until she could face both men. "Why didn't you tell me, Miles?"

Miles threw up his hands. "Are you serious?" he asked incredulously. "After what just happened here, you're really asking why I didn't share this particular bit of information with you? In the first place, the last thing Charlie needed – or any of the rest of us – was for you to go completely bat shit crazy over this! She was sick and tired and wasn't in any shape to deal with your reaction. The rest of us had to focus on getting her to safety and throwing the Patriots off our tracks. Forgive me if I didn't feel like that was an ideal time to throw off your focus! In the second place, Charlie had made the decision to protect Bass and she was the one who paid for it. It was up to her to tell you, not me."  
"I'm her mother!" Rachel exclaimed disbelievingly. "I have a right to know –"

"No," Miles cut her off. "You don't. She's an adult, Rachel," he said gently, hating what he had to say but knowing he couldn't avoid it. "And you . . . gave up that right a long time ago."

Rachel flinched and paled alarmingly. "How could you say that to me?" she whispered harshly. "You were the one who called me to Philadelphia," she reminded him, her voice gaining volume as she spoke. "You two were the ones who kept me there! I had no choice!"

"That's a popular phrase with you, isn't it, Rachel?" Bass said coolly. "You couldn't stop the power from going out because you had no choice, right? It was Randall's fault or because of Danny's health or because 'they' just wouldn't listen to you anymore. You missing out on ten years of Charlie's life wasn't your fault because Miles and I locked you up." He took a step towards Rachel, who found she was unable to tear her eyes from his. "But you did have choices," he reminded her smoothly. "You chose to develop the nanites, even after you knew what could happen. You chose to play God with them to keep your son alive, and damn the consequences for everyone else. You chose to come to Philadelphia when Miles sent for you and you had a pretty good idea of what you were walking into. I've done terrible, unspeakable things," he admitted grimly. "But at least I'm willing to take responsibility for them. Why don't you give it a try?"

Rachel's breath rasped in her throat, the sound harsh in the otherwise silent garage. "You bastard," she gasped. "How dare –"

"I'd dare a lot of things, Rachel," Bass answered, his voice flat. "Even telling the truth."

"You stay away from Charlie!" Rachel ordered him, raising her hand to stab her index finger into the air between them. "She's suffered enough because of you and I will not have you hurting her again!"

"Is this where I say 'Yes, Rachel' and slink off to hide?" Bass asked as he quirked an eyebrow; then he was suddenly serious. "Let's get something straight. I'll stay away from Charlotte if she tells me to. And if she wants me around, that's where I'll be. So get it out of your head that you have any say over this." For the first time he looked a little uncertain and ran a hand over the back of his neck. "I . . . care about Charlotte," he admitted slowly, sincerely. "I'm not going to do anything to hurt her."

"Yes, you will," Rachel spat as she began to back towards the door. "That's what you do, Monroe. You hurt people. You don't know how to be any other way." With one final burning look at Miles, she turned and walked away.

Bass and Miles stood silently, each avoiding looking at the other. Eventually, Miles spoke. "What. _The fuck_. Was that?"

"What?"

Miles turned to glare at Bass. "You heard me, Bass," he told him grimly. "One minute we're talking about what happened to Charlie and the next you're telling Rachel you care about Charlie and you're going to be around for her? What the hell are you talking about?" Miles was yelling by the end, his face flushed with anger.

Bass faced Miles' rage unflinchingly. "Charlotte and I talked last night. A lot," he said slowly. "About what the Patriots did to her. What _I've_ done to her. Connor. And . . . Shelley and the baby."

Miles reared back in shock and shook his head in disbelief. "You told her about Shelley?" he asked, stunned.

"Yeah," Bass replied. "I felt like I owed it to her after . . . what she had gone through." He abruptly turned his back to Miles, his shoulders rigid with tension. "I still can't believe she did that," he murmured so low that Miles almost didn't hear him. "It makes me sick to think about it." Bass glanced at Miles over his shoulder. "But she forced me to realize that I couldn't . . . dishonor Connor by becoming President Monroe again. And that I had to live up to what she had done for me."

"Bass," Miles began and then stopped short, completely shocked by what Bass had said.

"I promised Charlotte that what she went through wouldn't be for nothing." Bass turned fully and Miles could see the sincerity on his face. "After everything I've done, she's willing to forgive me. I'm not going to turn my back on that, Miles."

"I get that," Miles said slowly. "Really. But Bass, I'm getting the feeling that there's more going on here than you feeling grateful to Charlie." He shook his head, his eyes on Bass. "Please tell me I'm wrong."

Bass stared at Miles for a long moment. He sighed and shrugged helplessly. "I don't think I can do that, Miles."

"Shit, Bass," Miles sputtered. "You cannot mean that! She's her and you're . . . well, you! Do I really need to go into all the ways that this is a _terrible _idea? For God's sake, you're old enough to be her father!"

"Miles, take a breath," Bass told him grimly. "I'm not an idiot. Charlotte's forgiven me and I'm . . . not looking for any more than that. But," he added quickly, "that doesn't mean that I'm going to give into Rachel and just avoid her. I'll be around for her as much or as little as she wants."

"Just . . . God, Bass, I don't even know what to say!" Miles exclaimed as he began to pace. "I wanted you and Charlie to ride together to _talk_ not to jump into some weird-ass Shakespearean drama! And Rachel –" Miles paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Man, this is going to drive her off the deep end."

"She's wrong, you know," Bass said quietly. "I . . . used to be different. I'm _going_ to be different."

"I really hope so, Bass," Miles sighed as he scraped his hands down his face. "And not only because I don't want to see Charlie hurt." He raised his head and looked over at Bass. "You've been eaten up by hate and fear long enough, brother." Bass moved as if to speak and Miles cut him off. "Don't think I'm any happier about this than Rachel is," he warned.

And," Miles warned menacingly as he stepped up to look Bass in the face, "the first hint I get that you're a danger to Charlie, you're done. Understand?"

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Rachel walked through the doorway into the front room as if she was in a trance. Gene looked up at her and frowned. "Rachel, what's wrong? Where the hell have you been?"

She jumped slightly at his voice and looked down as if surprised to find him there. "Nothing," she finally said faintly, ignoring his second question. "Nothing's wrong."

"Then where's the willow bark?" her father asked, confused. "Couldn't you find it?"

Rachel looked down at her empty hands and frowned. "No, I . . . didn't see it."

"OK," Gene said, confused. "I'll just go out and –"

"No!" Rachel snapped. "Don't go out there."

Gene rose to his feet and grasped Rachel's shoulders. "Rachel, what's going on?" he asked insistently.

Before Rachel could respond, Charlie stirred and Rachel dropped down next to the mattress. "Charlie?" she murmured, her eyes riveted to her daughter's face. "Honey, can you hear me?" Gene knelt down and placed gentle fingers on Charlie's wrist to check her pulse.

Charlie moaned and her head rolled to the side on the pillow. "Come on, Charlie, try to open your eyes," Gene coaxed. Her eyelids fluttered and he lightly ran the tip of a finger down her cheek. "That's it, kiddo, open your eyes."

Charlie's eyes opened slowly, her vision blurry, and shifted against the mattress. Pain knifed through her and she cried out weakly. "Honey, lay still," Rachel told her as she smoothed a cool hand over Charlie's fevered brow. "It's going to be OK."

Looking slowly from Rachel to Gene, Charlie smiled weakly. "Hey, guys," she whispered. "I guess you got it all, huh?"

"All of it," Gene confirmed as he smiled down at her. "You were very brave."

"Not really," Charlie replied, smiling faintly. "If it hadn't been for Miles and Bass –" She broke off and looked around the room again, missing the way her mother froze at the sound of Bass' name. "Where are they?" Charlie asked, oblivious to the turmoil raging through her mother. "Where's Bass?"

**AN: Thanks for being so patient and I hope this chapter was worth the wait:)**** Thank you all very much for continuing to read, follow, favorite, and review my story. I'm so grateful for your encouragement and support and I'd love to hear what you think of this newest installment. XOXO**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The silence stretched around them as Charlie waited for an answer to her question. Rachel seemed to have frozen in place, her eyes wide and unseeing, while Gene was frowning at his daughter, confusion on his face. "Mom?" Charlie asked again. "Where are Miles and Bass?"

When it became obvious that Rachel wasn't gong to answer, Gene stepped in. "They're out back, honey," he told her soothingly. "Miles shot a deer on the way here and they're butchering it. They'll be in soon, OK?"

"Yeah," Charlie murmured as her eyes slid closed. "Grandpa, is there any water? I'm so thirsty."

"There is," Gene told her, "but I'm not totally sure that it's OK to drink. And if it weren't for the alcohol and honey we were able to put on your burn, I wouldn't have used the unboiled well water on your shoulder."

"Bass said it was OK," Charlie assured him. "He gave some to me last night and I feel fine."

"Well, aren't we fortunate that the great Sebastian Monroe doesn't feel the need to worry about such unimportant things as killing you with filthy well water," Rachel spat as she rose and began to pace in front of the mattress.

"Mom, what are you talking about?" Charlie asked as she watched her mother pass back and forth next to her. "He had tried it himself the night before. Bass wouldn't have given it to me if he had thought it was dangerous."

Rachel halted and peered down at her daughter's fever-flushed face. "Since when have you moved from calling him 'Monroe' to calling him 'Bass', huh?" Rachel queried sharply. "And I don't understand this sudden new level of trust in him, Charlie." She knelt back down next to the bed and fixed her daughter with a hard look. "I feel like there's something you need to tell me. Am I right?" Charlie remained silent and looked up at her mother, resignation in her face. "Charlie, just tell me."

"Rachel, Charlie doesn't need to be grilled like this right now," Gene said, finally compelled to jump into the conversation. "She's tired and weak and completely worn down. Let it go."

Charlie looked up at her mother's pale, set face and sighed inwardly. "No," she told her grandfather. "It's alright. I might as well get this over with." She shifted slightly to more fully face her mother and sucked in a breath at the pain. Pressing her lips together in a thin line, she took a moment to collect her thoughts. "The reason that Parker . . . pushed so hard in his questioning," Charlie began slowly, "was because he wanted me to give him certain information. And I refused."

"What did he want you to tell him?" Rachel asked stiffly.

Charlie shook her head, her eyes on her mother's face. "You know what he wanted," she replied softly. "You wouldn't have asked the question if you didn't."

"Maybe I'm hoping that I'm wrong," Rachel said almost desperately. "Maybe I don't want to believe that what I heard is the truth. Just tell me that he's wrong, Charlie," Rachel begged, tears burning her eyes. "Please."

Charlie shook her head, regret for her mother's pain etched on her face. "I can't."

"How could you, Charlie?" she asked in an agonized whisper. "How could you protect that murderous, lying, amoral son of a bitch?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Rachel?" Gene asked, completely confused. "Look, I don't know what's going on here but –"

"You don't know?" Rachel asked, her eyes wide in mock incredulity as she looked at him. "Well, let me fill you in, Dad." She rose to her feet and backed slowly away from Charlie. "My daughter was tortured, almost died, and just underwent that barbaric excuse for surgery because she refused to hand Monroe over to the Patriots." Gene sucked in a breath and his eyes dropped to rest, stunned, on his granddaughter's face. "What I can't understand," Rachel continued, her voice rising with each word, "is why you would suffer like that for a man who has taken everything from us. My God, Charlie, have you forgotten what he's done to our family? He deserved to be handed over!" she raged. "He is _evil_ and yet you saved him! I cannot believe that you –"

"That's enough."

The voice was calm, quiet, but it cracked through the room like a whip. Rachel spun and faced the intruder, a sneer of hate on her face. Bass stood in the doorway with a joint of fresh venison in one hand and a bundle of dried willow bark in the other. He strode into the room and set the meat on top of the cooking pot, then turned to Gene and held out the bark. "I found this on your saddle horn," Bass informed the other man. "Figured you'd need it for Charlotte." He finally turned back to Rachel and moved forward until he was standing between the woman and her daughter.

"You have a problem with me, fine," he told her, coldly furious. "But if you think I'm going to stand here while you browbeat Charlotte, you've lost your mind."

"You arrogant bastard, my daughter needs protecting from _you,_ not me!" Rachel hissed furiously.

"Obviously," Bass replied sardonically. He glanced over his shoulder at Charlie and his face softened. Gene's eyes widened as he caught the look on the former dictator's face before Bass turned to again face Rachel. "Look, Rachel, this isn't getting us anywhere," he said calmly. "I know it sounds trite, but neither of us can change the past. And you need to accept that I'm not going to just disappear. It would be better for all of us if there could be . . . some sort of truce."

"You think it's that easy?" Rachel asked incredulously. "That I can just move past everything you've done and let it go?"

"I did," Charlie said quietly.

"How?" Rachel cried despairingly. "After everything that's happened, Charlie, how could you do that?"

"Bass asked me the same thing," Charlie informed her wryly. "And I'll tell you the same thing I told him. It's because he's not the same man that he was." Rachel scoffed and Charlie shook her head. "He isn't," she insisted. "You only have to look at what he's done for us and for me to see that. How many times has he saved me, Mom?" Charlie pressed. "Or you or Miles? Mom, you have to make peace with what happened, for yourself more than anything else."

"What are you talking about, Charlie?" Rachel asked wearily.

"I think you can't forgive Bass because . . . you can't forgive yourself."

"Charlie!" Gene interjected sharply as he took in Rachel's suddenly bone-white face. "Don't."

Charlie ignored her grandfather and struggled to prop herself up on an elbow, urgency giving her a sudden brief burst of strength. "I know you, Mom," she continued relentlessly, "better than you think. You blame yourself for everything, maybe even more than you blame Bass. The nanotech was your creation. The blackout, the collapse of everything we knew, all those people that died, even the Republic – you blame yourself for all of it. And you can't forgive someone who was created by the blackout until you can forgive yourself."

Rachel stood in stunned silence, her eyes wide and haunted as she stared down at her daughter. Suddenly she uttered a terrible, choked cry and turned to sprint out the open cabin door. The three remaining inhabitants of the room remained frozen in place until Gene slowly rose to his feet and, avoiding looking at either Bass or Charlie, murmured something about "going to check on her" and followed Rachel out the door.

Bass turned and looked down at Charlie. "You really don't believe in doing anything halfway, do you?" he asked jokingly, though Charlie could see how moved he had been by her words. He sat down next to the mattress and wrapped a supporting arm around her shoulders as he helped her to lie back down.

"Yeah," Charlie agreed a bit breathlessly. "One of the dangers of being a Matheson, I guess."

Bass sat looking down at Charlie for a long moment and she smiled up at him. "What?" she asked, perplexed by the intensity of his attention.

"Nothing," he replied, smiling faintly back at her. Bass turned suddenly and moved towards the fireplace. "I'd better get this meat cooking," he said briskly. "We need to get you feeling better and fast." Bass quickly changed topics to something less serious and began regaling Charlie with stories of his exploits with Miles before the blackout.

Charlie rested back against the pillow and closed her eyes, her head filled with the sound of Bass' voice.

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Rachel ran around the side of the house and collapsed against the sturdy log wall, her breath harsh in her throat as she finally yielded to the force of her sobs. Covering her face with her hands, she wept at the pain that Charlie's words had brought her. The pain, she acknowledged dimly, and the realization that her daughter might be right. She had been able to ignore, at least partially, what Miles and Bass had said. But when it came from Charlie . . . So lost was she in her grief that she didn't hear the footsteps that followed her.

"Rachel," Gene whispered as he placed gentle hands on her shoulders. Rachel leaned forward and rested her head in the middle of her father's chest. "Honey, don't do this to yourself," he urged as he lowered his chin to the crown of her head. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"I'm already sick," Rachel gulped as she forced herself to straighten and face her father, her eyes were and cheeks streaked with tears. "I'm sick with hate and fear and guilt." She wiped her streaming eyes on her sleeve and tried to get herself under control. "Charlie was right. I _do _blame myself for what's happened. Ben and I . . . we couldn't see how wrong it was. We thought what we were doing was right, that we were helping to make things better. We were so _arrogant_," she said mournfully. "Arrogant and stupid. But by the time we realized what a mistake it all was, we didn't know how to undo it. Maybe we didn't try hard enough," Rachel admitted. "I don't know. But what we did . . . it ended up destroying everything we loved. Monroe, Miles, the Republic . . . it was our fault."

Before Gene could reply another voice chimed in. "Rachel, you can't go from denying any responsibility to taking all of it," Miles said as he walked towards her. Rachel turned her face away from him but he put a finger under her chin and forced her to face him. "I mean it, Rachel," he insisted firmly. "Yes, some of it was your fault. You've always known that but I think it's a pretty big thing that you're finally admitting it. None of us are blameless in this whole mess. But," Miles qualified, "the way that people reacted after the blackout . . . that was based on their own choices. The thing that tipped Bass over the edge –" Miles paused, unwilling to share that painful memory without Bass' permission. "OK, it probably wouldn't have happened without the blackout," he admitted. "But Bass was already on shaky ground after his family died, you know that. Even if the power hadn't gone out, something could have easily happened that would have had the same result. As for me . . . Hell, Rachel, I've always had issues. There's darkness in everyone," Miles told her, unknowingly expressing the same thought as his niece. "We choose what we do with it."

"I just –" Rachel paused and squeezed her eyes shut as she shook her head. "I don't know if I can forgive him," she said almost pleadingly. "Or me."

"Honey, that's something that you're going to have to work out on your own," Gene told her. "But while you're doing that, you have to stop torturing yourself. And," he added grimly, "you can't push Charlie on this Monroe thing."

"What are you talking about?" Miles snapped, almost afraid to hear what Gene would say.

"Rachel confronted Charlie about what she did for Monroe," Gene replied. "I still can't quite believe it myself," he admitted. "But Rachel," Gene said as he turned back to his daughter. "It's obvious that things have changed between those two. Now, I'm not sure _how _the relationship has changed," he hastened to assure her. "But Rachel, you can't attack Charlie over her decision."

"I just wanted to understand why –"

"I know," Gene interrupted calmly. "You might not have meant for it to seem like that. But it did. Our little world has changed. Again," he added wryly. "We all need to realize that and figure out to deal with it. Can you do that?"

Rachel nodded her head slowly. "I'm going to have to," she said dully, her explosion of grief leaving her physically drained. "I won't lose Charlie."

"Just keep thinking of her," Gene told his daughter. He jerked his head towards the front of the cabin and slipped an arm around Rachel's shoulders. "Come on. Let's go back in and see how Charlie's doing."

The trio walked back around the house and through the front door. Bass glanced back over his shoulder from where he was crouched by the fireplace. They stared at each other until Bass finally broke the silence. "I'm cutting up the meat to make a broth," he informed them as he gestured at the cooking pot with his knife. "Just about ready to put it on to cook."

"Thanks, Bass," Miles said as he moved farther into the room. He glanced over at a sleeping Charlie. "How is she?"

Bass continued to cut into the meat as he answered Miles. "Sleeping soundly," he told him. Bass glanced at Gene and then nodded towards the older man's saddlebags. "I put the willow bark on your bags," he informed him. "And I got some fresh water. Figured she'd need some tea sooner rather than later."

"Yes," Gene replied after a surprised silence. "Thanks. I'll . . . get the coffee pot and get started on that."

Rachel sat next to Charlie and brushed her hair away from her fevered face. She almost jumped when she heard Bass addressing her. "Rachel," he said, his voice low. "Are we . . . OK?"

"No," Rachel replied softly, taking care not to wake Charlie. "But we're better than we were." She looked over at him briefly before returning her attention to Charlie. "That might not be saying much but it'll have to enough for now."

BCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBC

Charlie slept deeply until Gene woke her with the willow bark tea several hours later. Miles sat behind her and propped her up as Gene held the cup to her lips and gently pressed her to drink more. "Come on, kiddo," he prompted. "It'll help with the pain and bring your fever down. That's it," he encouraged. "All of it."

Charlie grimaced but did as she was told, draining the cup and finally leaning back limply against Miles. "That tastes awful," she said bluntly.

Gene laughed. "I know," he acknowledged readily. "You might as well get used to it. You're going to be drinking it every five hours or so."

"Ugh," Charlie shuddered at the thought. "I hate being sick."

"This is more than sick," Gene warned, suddenly serious. "You could have died, Charlie. As it is, between the infection and the fever, you're going to be out of commission for quite a while. Until your fever goes down, you stay in bed. No," he interrupted when she would have spoken. "Don't even think of trying to argue with me. Be a good girl, drink you medicine, and get plenty of rest. When your fever breaks, then we can revisit the issue. OK?"

"OK," Charlie agreed with false reluctance, somewhat relieved at the hard line Gene was taking. Truth be told, she felt utterly drained and woolen-headed. She doubted if she could have rolled over on her own, let alone get out of bed. But at least Gene's orders gave her an excuse not to try and pretend.

"Miles, grab the couch cushions, will you?" Bass asked as he used a cup to ladle some broth into a bowl. "She can rest against those while she eats." Miles moved to comply and Bass brought the broth to Charlie, kneeling next to her. Miles brought the stacked cushions over and Bass set the bowl down, leaning forward to slide his arms around Charlie and gently lift her into a sitting position. Charlie's head fell forward to rest on his shoulder and Bass could hear Rachel catch her breath. He stiffened in preparation for an attack but, to his surprise and relief, none came. When the makeshift pillows were in place, Bass eased Charlie against them and picked up the bowl of broth.

"OK, Charlotte, open up."

Charlie looked at the bowl and grimaced. "I'm really not hungry," she objected, the fever and the trauma of the surgery leaving her with no appetite.

"Doctor's orders," Bass replied implacably as he dipped the spoon into the steaming liquid. He looked her and cocked an eyebrow. "Come on, Charlotte, don't make me do 'here comes the airplane'. That would be humiliating for both of us."

Charlie choked back a surprised laugh and shook her head as it rested against the pillows. "Fine," she agreed. "But we stop when I say I've had enough. Deal?"

"Deal."

Miles and Gene moved to sit by Rachel at the foot of the mattress and they sat talking quietly as they ate the boiled venison. Rachel, however, kept her eyes on her daughter and Sebastian Monroe. Her father had been right, she realized as she watched Monroe feed Charlie. And so, she reluctantly admitted, had Charlie. Their little world and Monroe _had _changed. If she didn't want to be left behind, if she didn't want to lose her daughter, she was going to have to learn to live with this strange new situation. After all, she told herself grimly, whatever faults she might have, at least she was good at adapting.

**AN: I have been so thrilled with all the reviews that have been left for this story and for the continued interest. Every time I open my email account and see a review, I grin like an idiot It totally makes my day. Thank you all so much for such amazing reviews, for all of the favorites and follows. You guys are awesome and I truly appreciate the support. Just FYI, my school workload is going to double within the next couple of days. Lots of reading, group meetings, and more presentations, so I won't be updating as frequently as I have over the last week or so. But I'm going to do my best to make sure that I post a new chapter at least once a week. It just depends on how things are going. As always, reviews are most welcome and I can't wait to hear what you think of the latest chapter. XOXOXO**


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Bass sat on the bottom step of the cabin and leaned back, filling his lungs with the fresh Texas night air, his gun resting at his side. Who the hell would have thought that he and Charlie would . . . what? OK, they had opened up to each other. She had forgiven him, which he still couldn't believe. He had told her about Shelley and his daughter. Hell, he had even promised her that he would be a better man. But what did all that mean? They really hadn't had a chance to figure it out. One minute they had been holding each other, her breath softly washing over his neck and he feeling more peace in her arms than he had known in . . . so long. And then the next she had practically collapsed right at his feet. Not really a good time to ask about a shift in their relationship, he thought ruefully. He ran his hand through his hair and rested his forehead on a clenched fist. Shit. He was being ridiculous, Bass told himself viciously. Just because she had protected him and told him she cared and trusted him and he had suddenly wanted to be everything she . . . _No_, damn it! She was a _kid_, for God's sake! Well, he reluctantly admitted, not really a kid. But she was definitely Miles' niece. And she had slept with Connor. And he was just . . . confused. Too much had happened and he just needed a chance to process everything. And then he could fully realize that while he cared about Charlotte it was as a . . . friend? Former best friend of her uncle? Dictator-turned-guardian angel? Bass squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. What a mess.

"Problems?"

Bass forced himself to suppress a groan and raised his head to stare straight ahead. "Just thinking."

Miles sat next to him and rested his forearms on his upraised knees. "Charlie's sleeping," he told Bass casually. "Gene's gonna sleep on the couch. You, Rachel and I will take the watch in shifts. Any preference?"

"No."

Neither of them spoke, just sat and stared out into the night, until Miles sighed. "Come on, Bass," he said resignedly. "You might as well tell me."

"Tell you what?" Bass asked casually, though he felt a slight, involuntary tensing of his muscles as if he was subconsciously preparing himself to flee.

"Gene told me about your little conversation with Rachel," Miles informed him.

"So?"

"He also told me that he was a little concerned that you might . . ." Miles broke off, suddenly reluctant to actually repeat what Gene had said.

"That I might what?" Bass asked, a trace of amusement in his voice. "Punch her?"

"Be in love with Charlie."

Bass jerked as though an electric current had passed through his body but his steadfastly refused to face Miles. "He's dreaming," Bass said flatly.

"Is he?" Miles asked seriously, his eyes fixed on Bass' steely profile. "'Cause I gotta tell you, Bass, from what I've seen, I think Gene might be right. And that scares me to death. I know Charlie acts like a total badass and, in some ways, it's true," he admitted with a hint of pride in his voice. "But this thing with Jason . . . the kid feels deeply, Bass, and she doesn't do things halfway. Now, I know you've said that Charlie has changed you. And I'm glad, really," Miles assured him. "But Bass, when things go wrong, you tend to . . ."

"Fall apart?" Bass supplied, his jaw clenched. "Go crazy? Hurt people?"

There was a pregnant pause. "Yeah," Miles finally replied. "I don't want her to be caught up in that again."

"Miles, I care about her, OK?" Bass admitted stiffly.

"Yeah, Bass, I know you care about her," Miles said shortly. "That's kind of implied in the whole 'in love' thing. What I want to know is how much?"

"Enough to want more for her," Bass replied, his voice rough. "Charlotte did something for me that I never could have expected and she kept me from turning back into someone that I hated. So yeah, I have feelings for her." Bass turned to face Miles, his face calm in spite of the sadness, anger and frustration raging through him. "But don't worry, Miles. She's safe from me."

Miles stared hard at Bass, his eyes taking in every feature, searching for any hint of betraying emotion. Miles knew that Bass was lying. He could always tell. But . . . honest to God, he admitted to himself, he just wasn't sure this time. "I'm glad to hear that," he finally said quietly. "I don't want either of you hurt. And that's all that would happen if Gene had been right."

When it became clear that Bass wasn't going to respond, Miles stood and turned to walk back up the steps. He halted at the sound of Bass' voice.

"I'll take first watch tonight," Bass said calmly.

Miles frowned as he looked down at Bass, his brow creased in thought. "Yeah," he finally said. He moved as though to say something but shook his head, his lips pressed tight together, and went back into the cabin.

Bass listened to Miles' retreating footsteps and tilted his head to look up at the night sky, the inky blackness broken by countless pinpricks of ethereal white light. Miles was . . . not wrong, Bass told himself. He wasn't going to break his word to Charlotte. He wasn't going to become President Monroe again. But, he admitted, even though Miles was wrong about why the idea of him with Charlotte was a bad idea, he was right when he said it shouldn't happen. He was too old, he told himself, too damaged. And too damn scared. He didn't think he could stand to lose someone again. Shelley and the baby dying had broken him. Then Emma. And Connor. Bass abruptly stood and grabbed up his gun, suddenly needing to move, to do _something_ that would prevent him from thinking too much. He'd just keep his distance from her, Bass decided. At least until he didn't feel so . . . raw. He just had to get his mind settled. And then everything would be alright.

**AN: Sorry this is so short but this conversation was dying to get out. I don't have time to write a 3,000 word update but I thought this would set up the following chapter really well. I probably won't be posting anything until later next week – SO MUCH WORK TO DO**** Anyway, I just wanted to post something for all of you since you have been SO AMAZING and I really appreciate it. As always, comments/reviews are most welcome and thank you so much for reading!**


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Charlie shifted restlessly on the mattress, the pain in her shoulder having faded over the last week to a deep, dull throb. It still hurt like a bitch but, loath as she was to admit it, that disgusting willow bark tea Gene made her drink had helped with the discomfort. In fact, she thought as she grimaced, it might be time for another dose. She glanced around the room and found, to her surprise, that she was actually alone for the first time since they had arrived at the cabin. Gene, Rachel and Miles had pretty much been glued to her side but Bass . . . Charlie frowned at the thought of him. He had been so strange since the day after their big talk. One minute he was feeding her soup and the next, he couldn't seem to put enough distance between them. He wasn't closed off or surly or cold. None of the emotions she had learned to associate with General Monroe. Bass had been . . . civil. Pleasant but withdrawn. The fragile connection that had sprung up between them, the intimacy Charlie had felt every time he touched her, had seemed to disappear. She was confused. And pissed. OK, so maybe he had freaked out a little about what had happened between them. It had thrown her, too. But he should at least _say_ something to her about it! Charlie closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Soft footsteps interrupted her reverie and Charlie's eyes flew open to see Bass practically tip-toeing through the room.

"I'm not asleep," she informed him with a smile, touched in spite of herself that he was making such an effort not to disturb her.

Bass stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. Charlie thought she saw panic flare in his eyes but she blinked and it was gone. "Sorry," Bass apologized. "Didn't mean to disturb you."

"Yeah, you've been real thoughtful that way for the last few days," Charlie murmured.

A muscle ticked in Bass' jaw and he turned his head to look out one of the windows. "Just keeping an eye on things," he responded lamely. "Everyone else was . . . pretty distracted."

"Well, Mom and Miles went looking for game. And now that my fever has broken, Grandpa feels like he can finally rest. He's laying down in one of the bedrooms. I, on the other hand, will officially lose my mind if I don't get out of this bed. Wanna help me with that?"

Bass turned to fully face her and frowned. "You can't get up," he told her with certainty. "No way."

Charlie signed and tipped her head back against the pillow to stare up at the ceiling. "Grandpa promised that once I was over my fever, I could get some fresh air. Just for a few minutes, I promise. Please?" She turned to look up at him, her eyes pleading, and Bass felt his resolve melting. Damn it.

"OK," Bass agreed as he knelt to help her sit up. "But just for a couple of minutes."

"Thank you," she said sincerely, slipping an arm around his neck as he brought an arm beneath her back. Bass raised her gently into a sitting position, giving her a minute to get used to it, then slowly stood up with her. Charlie abruptly felt as if all the blood in her body was rushing towards her feet and she swayed, letting her head drop to rest on Bass' chest. She could hear him cursing under his breath and felt him shift to lay her back down. Charlie forced herself to straighten and lay a restraining hand on his arm. "No, I'm OK," she whispered breathlessly. "Just haven't been upright for a few days."

"You sure?" Bass asked gruffly, trying to ignore how incredible it felt – damn it all to hell – to have Charlie pressed against him.

"Yeah," she said in a stronger voice. "Let's go to the back yard. I haven't been there yet."

The two made their slowly way through the house and out the back door. By the time they reached the two small steps that led from the back porch to the yard, Charlie's legs felt like they were made of rubber and she leaned heavily into Bass' side. His arm tightened around her and smiled in spite of her fatigue. "Thanks, Bass," she said as he helped her down the steps. "I couldn't have handled another minute cooped up."

"No problem," he replied and Charlie could have screamed when she heard the return of that non-committal tone of voice. Bass led her over to the well cover and helped her sit down. To her chagrin, he moved a few feet away and stood, hands on hips, as he studied the barn with unwarranted interest. Charlie shook her head and turned her face towards the wonderful warmth of the sun. If she only had a couple of minutes out here, she decided, she was going to enjoy it.

Bass heard Charlie sigh and snuck a look over his shoulder to make sure she was OK. He saw her head tilted back to catch the sun's rays, a small smile on her lips as she reveled in her few moments of freedom in the fresh air. An involuntary spasm of pain twisted his face. Get a grip, he told himself harshly. Friends. That's all they were. That's all he wanted to be. He scoffed silently. Yeah, right. He brushed a hand over his face and turned to walk back towards her. "I think that's enough, Charlotte," he told her as he stood over her. "Time to go back in."

"Nope."

"What do you mean, 'nope'?" he asked, frowning down at her. "You've had your few minutes. Now you need to rest."

"I get to define how many minutes are in my 'few minutes'," Charlie shot back, her eyes still closed as she soaked up the sun. "And I still have some left." One eye opened and she squinted up at him. "Don't look at me like that," she admonished cheerfully. "Have a seat. Enjoy this beautiful day and don't be such a grump."

Bass stood staring down at her, torn between the competing desires to take her bodily back into the house or to spend a few precious minutes with her, relatively free from the possibility of interruption. In reality, it wasn't much of a struggle. He slowly sat next to her, making sure to keep plenty of distance between them.

"So what's your problem?" Charlie asked conversationally. Bass' eyes shot over to her to find she was looking right back at him.

"I don't have one," Bass denied immediately. "Everything's fine."

"Don't do that," Charlie insisted quietly, hurt evident in her eyes. "Don't lie. I thought . . . I thought we were past that."

"Charlotte, I'm not lying," he insisted.

"Bass, you've been going out of your way to avoid me!" Charlie turned away and looked down at the pattern she was drawing in the dirt with the toe of her shoe. "If you regret telling me about Shelley –"

"No," Bass said immediately, his voice harsh. "I don't. I don't regret anything I said that night. Just . . . please, Charlotte, leave it alone."

"I'm sorry, have we met?" Charlie asked acerbically. "I've never really been good at leaving things alone, especially when they bug the hell out of me." She slowly shifted until she had closed the distance he had so purposefully left between them. His hands, which were resting on either side of his hips, gripped the well cover so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Charlie noticed and her eyebrows rose in surprise, but she let it pass.

"Bass," she said softly, leaning down to try to catch his eye, but he resolutely refused to look up, his gaze remaining firmly on the lawn. Charlie reached out slowly and, placing a gentle hand on his cheek, forced him to face her. "Is it what Mom said? Because I thought we had worked all of that out before they got here. You _know_ that I don't blame you for what happened and –"

"It wasn't Rachel," Bass insisted grittily. "I just . . . a lot has happened, alright? I need some time to process it. A little space. Is that too much to ask?"

Charlie studied his face intently and her lips tightened in annoyance. "OK," she allowed. "That's part of it. But you're still not telling me the whole truth."

Bass jerked away from her restraining hand and jumped up from the well cover, whirling to face her. "Enough, Charlotte," he growled. "I don't know why you feel like you're suddenly an expert on me and my moods but –"

"An expert?" Charlie exclaimed, rising slowly to face him, anger radiating from her with each word. "Bass, I won't live long enough to know even _half_ your moods! But here's what I do know. Things changed between us. _A lot_. And, yes, it was confusing and we really didn't have a chance to figure things out before everyone got here but –" Charlie broke off and the fight seemed to drain out of her, leaving her looking tapped and exhausted. "I didn't think we'd go back to just tolerating each other."

"Charlotte, for God's sake," Bass said almost desperately, "we're not going back to anything! It was just . . ."

"Just what?" Charlie asked wearily.

"Too much!" Bass exploded, striding towards her and framing her shocked face in his hands. "I felt too much and it wasn't right! It freaked everyone out – me, your mother, Miles, Gene and –"

"Don't you dare say my name, Bass," Charlotte interrupted, her eyes intent on his. "You don't get to speak for me. And just to let you know," she said as she wrapped her fingers around his wrists, "it definitely was right."

Bass slowly dropped his hands from her face, turning them so he gripped her hands in his. "Charlotte," he said carefully, "I don't think you realize what you're talking about."

"Oh, please," she scoffed. "That's such a cop out. It'd be so easy to ignore your feelings if you thought I was just confused or had the emotional maturity of a twelve-year-old. So let me make myself very clear." Charlie tightened her grip on Bass' hands and closed what little distance remained between them. "I know that this situation is . . . weird," she conceded and smiled when he laughed, a quiet huff of breath at her massive understatement. "But," she continued firmly, "I don't care. I _need_ you, Bass. For God's sake, have the guts to admit that you need me, too."

Bass stared down at Charlie, his expression a mix of hope and deep apprehension. "Really think about this," he cautioned her. "I mean, what does needing each other even mean? We have no idea what we're getting into and your family –"

"Will have to learn to deal with it," Charlie finished. "As for what it means . . ." She shrugged her uninjured shoulder. "I don't know either. But that shouldn't stop us from being there for each other, right? Let's face it, we're both pretty messed up. Issues with trust, intimacy, control –"

"Wrap it up, Charlotte."

Charlie grinned up at him and tightened her grip on his hands. "But the great thing is that it doesn't matter. Because we understand each other. And we make each other better. So suck it up, Bass," she told him cheekily, though Bass could see what almost looked like fear in her eyes. "Tell me."

Bass sighed deeply and lowered his head to gently press his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as he allowed himself to simply enjoy her nearness. "OK," he finally rasped. "I need you, too."

Charlie laughed, a little hiccup of sound. "Good," she replied, a tremor in her voice.

Bass pulled back and frowned down at her, distressed to see a suspicious sheen in her eyes. "You alright?" he asked, concerned.

"Yeah," she assured him as she pulled her fingers from his grasp only to wrap her arms around his waist. "I'm good."

Bass felt his breath catch as he gently ran his fingers up her arms, careful to avoid her still-tender wound, and once again cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs skimming over her cheeks. "Charlotte," he murmured as he began to lower his head, his eyes fixed on her slightly parted lips.

Charlie allowed her eyes to slide closed, her breathing fast and shallow, as she waited to feel the press of his lips against hers. Some vague corner of her mind was working well enough to wonder how long she had wanted this but she completely ignored it. She felt his breath waft across her cheek and her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him even closer so they were tightly pressed together from chest to hip. Bass' fingers tunneled into her hair and tilted her head as his lips just barely brushed the corner of her mouth. Charlie felt her skin prickle with goose bumps and she turned her head, her lips seeking his. So close, so close, so –

"Bass!"

Charlie was rudely jerked back into awareness and she blinked owlishly up at Bass, whose jaw looked to be carved from rock as he glared furiously at the cabin. He pulled his hands away from Charlie and ran them over his face. "Perfect," he muttered. "Absolutely perfect." He looked down at Charlie, an apology clear on his face, and answered Miles. "Just a minute!"

"So what now?" Charlie asked quietly.

Bass frowned as he noticed her sudden paleness, the slight tremor in her hand when she brushed her hair back over her shoulders. Shit, he thought harshly. She had just gotten over a fever and being operated on with a _hunting knife, _for God's sake. He was an idiot. Bass stooped and lifted her into his arms, settling her comfortably against his chest. "Now we go inside," Bass answered as he walked slowly towards the cabin. "We act normal. OK," he grinned when she glared up at him. "We act _new_ normal. But," he said seriously, "we're taking this slow. For us and," he nodded towards the house, "for them. Agreed?"

Charlie smiled as she rested her head on his shoulder. "Agreed." For the time being.

**AN: So here's what a chapter looks like when it's written by someone who is massively sleep-deprived and mildly incoherent**** But this update gave me some much-needed stress relief so I hope my therapy made a good chapter! Thanks to everyone who is still reading and for all the wonderful reviews you gave my last mini-chapter. You are all amazing and your support really does make me so happy. I'd love to hear what you think about this latest installment! XOXO**


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Charlie murmured her thanks to Rachel as she took her plate, the roasted rabbit fresh from the fire and steaming temptingly. She picked up a knife and fork and, turning, saw a space was open on the couch next to Bass. Smothering a smile, she made her way over to him and sat down, her hip brushing against his. Bass stiffened and shot a look over at Rachel to make sure she wasn't going to fall apart at this admittedly innocent physical contact. She was still focusing on dishing up everyone's dinner and hadn't noticed but it was going to happen. It was only a matter of time. Bass felt sweat break out on his forehead.

"Charlotte, what are you doing?" he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

"What?" she whispered back innocently as she sliced into a tender piece of rabbit. "I'm eating dinner. Gotta build my strength up."

Bass dared to take his eyes off of Rachel and darted a glare at Charlie, only to find her smiling over at him, eyes wide in feigned innocence. "You did say we were going to try 'new normal'," she reminded him impishly. "Might as well start now." Charlie caught movement out of the corner of her eye and Bass frowned when her smile widened. "Saddle up, Bass."

His head whipped around and he found himself looking into the wide, shocked eyes of Rachel Matheson. Bass cleared his throat and gestured at his food. "Great rabbit, Rachel," he said with feigned enthusiasm.

Rachel raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at his plate. "Thanks," she said briskly. "Especially since you haven't even tasted it yet."

"Well, it _smells_ delicious."

Rachel stood, her eyes on Bass, and yelled, "Miles! Dad! Dinner!"

Miles and Gene filed into the room and Bass felt his stomach drop at the look on Miles' face when he saw how closely Charlie was sitting next to the former President of the Monroe Republic. Miles clenched his jaw and Bass knew that they would be having a conversation later. Probably a very loud conversation. Well, Bass thought, Miles was just gong to have to deal with it. He shifted closer to Charlie and returned Miles' glare calmly. New normal, he reminded himself, and looked over at Charlie, a soft smile spreading over his face when he found that she had been looking at him, too.

Gene, well aware of the tension and what had caused it, cleared his throat roughly. "Great rabbit, Rachel," he said with forced joviality as he ate with unwarranted relish.

"Yes," Rachel replied grimly. "So I've been told."

A tense silence descended over the little group, broken only by the scraping of forks against the tin plates. Miles spent most of the meal glaring at Bass, Rachel watched Charlie, Bass and Charlie looked primarily at each other, and Gene was trying desperately to remember if he had enough valerian root to keep Miles and Rachel sedated for the next few days.

When the last of the rabbit was eaten and the plates rinsed clean in the kitchen, Miles picked up his gun and stood in front of Bass. "I'm going to check the perimeter," he said briskly. "Bass, why don't you come along? Always useful to have an extra set of eyes."

Bass glanced over at Charlie and sighed. "Sure," he replied as he rose to face his friend. "Let's go." He bent to grab his weapon and followed Miles out the door, casting one last resigned look at Charlie. She smiled encouragingly and gave him a thumbs up. Bass rolled his eyes and stepped onto the porch.

As soon as the door was closed Miles turned on him. "What the _fuck_, Bass?" he asked in a loud whisper. "Did we or did we not have this discussion _last week_?"

"Yeah, we did, Miles," Bass answered calmly as he walked around Miles to reach the porch steps. "And I admit, I agreed with you. Not," he quickly clarified as he began to walk around the cabin, "for the reasons you mentioned. I had some of my own. But things change. Things _have _changed."

"Well, change them back," Miles demanded as he followed Bass. "I meant what I said. I don't want her hurt!"

"You think I do?" Bass exclaimed as he turned to face Miles, his eyes bright with anger. "I wouldn't hurt Charlotte to save my own life! And I sure as hell wouldn't let anyone else hurt her."

"Shit, Bass, I'm not questioning whether or not you'd protect Charlie," Miles allowed angrily. "And you wouldn't mean to hurt her. But it would happen."

"You know what, you're right," Bass conceded and Miles blinked, surprised at the admission. "At some point, we're going to fight. I'll probably say something that'll upset her, maybe hurt her feelings. Because, and here's a news flash for you, Miles, Charlotte and I are human. And even when you care about someone, even when you need them more than your next breath, you can still say or do something to piss them off. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Bass asked sarcastically. "I mean, you and Rachel. Now, _there's_ a perfect relationship. Why don't you tell me what that's like, buddy?"

"You're a dick," Miles hissed as he invaded Bass' space. "And you know that the two situations are completely different."

"Yeah, I agree," Bass replied calmly, though his eyes flashed with anger. "You're sleeping with your dead brother's wife and, somehow, his daughter hasn't passed judgment on either of you." Before Miles could respond, Bass stepped closer and roughly poked his finger in Miles' chest. "You don't get to say who people find happiness with, Miles. This thing with Charlotte and me, OK, it's might not make sense to other people but it makes sense to us. And I'm not going to lose something amazing because you and Rachel don't like it."

"Damn it, Bass-"

"Hey, guys."

Miles and Bass whirled to find Charlie standing on the edge of the long end of the porch, her uninjured shoulder propped against the wall. "Kind of a slow perimeter check," she observed calmly, though her eyes were hard as they rested on her uncle. "Might be better to split up, don't you think?"

Miles glared at Bass and then turned back to Charlie. "Yeah," he agreed stiffly. "Sounds like a good idea."

"Great," Charlie replied. "Bass, help me down, would you? I could use a walk."

Bass could feel the anger radiating off of Miles in waves but he walked over to the porch and put his hands on Charlie's waist, gently lowering her to stand in front of him. She rested her hands on his shoulder and smiled up at him. "Thanks." She looked over at Miles, her eyes daring him to say anything. He clenched his jaw, shifted his grip on his gun, and strode off in the opposite direction.

Bass sighed heavily and looked down at Charlie. "I thought we were taking this slow."

Charlie raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "Bass, this _is _slow," she insisted as she moved to walk towards the back yard. "Uh oh, watch out!" she said sarcastically. "Sebastian Monroe helped me down from the porch!" Charlie smirked and glanced at him over her shoulder. "It's not like I threw you to the ground and we started making out."

Bass jerked to a stop at the mental image. _Shit_. Forcing himself to snap out of the realm of fantasy, he jogged a bit to catch up with Charlie and then fell into step beside her. "Look, all I'm saying is that we need to be aware of the fact that this . . . development is not going to be met with a whole lot of excitement. Miles had an idea of what was going on a few days ago. We had a little . . . chat. He's freaked out, Charlotte."

"Wait a minute," Charlie said slowly as she stopped walking and turned to face him. "You and Miles had a _chat_? About us? And you didn't mention it? What the hell, Bass?"

"And when exactly was I going to bring it up?" Bass asked with exaggerated calm. "As I recall, we had _just_ decided to give whatever this is a try," he said, gesturing between them, "when Miles barged in. We haven't had a moment to ourselves since. So when were we going to have that particular conversation?"

"Fine," Charlie conceded, still put out. "Let's have it now. What did you two talk about?"

"Miles is worried that I'm going to hurt you," Bass told her bluntly. "He thinks that I'm going to fall apart again and drag you down with me. I . . . agreed to keep my distance."

"That's why you were acting so strange," Charlie said softly. She reached up and gently placed a hand on his rough cheek. Bass' eyes slid closed as he instinctively leaned into her caress. "Bass, look at me," she ordered quietly. He opened his eyes to find Charlie staring up at him, her face a mask of determination. "I heard a lot of what you said to Miles just now," she informed him. "And you were right. About everything. But I'm not quite sure you actually believed what you were telling him about us." Bass moved as if to say something and she shifted her hand to press her fingers against his lips. "No, you need to listen," she insisted. "You have to really understand that, however worried Miles or my mom or my grandfather might be, I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid of you or us or anything that may or may not happen somewhere down the road. I believe in you, OK? Promise that you won't go all stupid again and think that what's best for me isn't you."

Bass reached up and grasped the fingers resting on his lips, pressing a kiss to them as he slid his other arm around her waist. "I promise," he told her solemnly. "You'll have a hard time getting rid of me now."

"Good," Charlie said, smiling up at him. She slipped her arms around Bass' waist and rested her cheek against his chest. "God, my family is exhausting," she sighed as she cuddled up to him.

"Not going to argue on that one," Bass replied wryly as he rested his chin on the crown of her head. "And you're not exactly up to your fighting weight." His hands caressed her back and he pressed a kiss into her hair. "You have to be careful that you're not pushing yourself too hard. You need to rest, baby."

Charlie stiffened and slowly pulled back to look up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "What did you say?"

Bass frowned, genuinely confused at her reaction. "That you need to rest."

"No," Charlie told him, drawing out the word. "That wasn't the _only_ thing you said." She watched him as he thought back, could actually see the wheels whirling in his head, and saw the exact moment he realized what had slipped out. His eyes widened and a faint blush rose in his cheeks as he struggled to respond.

"Um, I . . . really didn't mean to . . . you see, I was just –"

"It's OK," Charlie said, grinning widely. "I kind of like it."

"Yeah?" Bass asked skeptically, his eyes uncertain as they searched her face.

"Yeah," she affirmed. "Though you might want to be careful when you say it. I don't know if it's physically possible for the top of Miles' head to blow off, but that might do it."

Bass laughed and took Charlie's hand, his fingers sliding between hers. "Wanna finish the perimeter check or do you need to go back in the cabin?"

"Definitely finish the check," Charlie declared as they began to walk. "I've been inside too long. And," she added impishly, "this'll give Miles a little more time to stew."

"You're a devil-woman, Charlotte Matheson," Bass said with mock severity. "God help me."

They finished their loop of the house in companionable silence, their fingers linked, though Bass could feel himself growing more agitated with every step. He knew that it might be too soon for this but his feelings for her ran too deep for him to ignore the question that had been pounding in his brain for weeks. He had to know and it was better to get it out of the way now, at the beginning, than try to ignore it and maybe wreck the whole thing. When they had determined that all was secure, Bass led Charlie, who was totally unaware of what was coming, back to the well and gestured for her to sit down.

"What's wrong?" she asked as she perched herself on the well cover. "You're looking really serious again."

Bass sat next to her and took her hand in his, frowning down at their joined hands as he played with her fingers. "Charlotte," he began slowly, "I have to ask you something and . . . I really don't want to. It's not going to be an easy question to ask. Or to answer. But I've been thinking about it for so long and, now that we've happened, I have to know."

Charlie stiffened, her spine going rigidly straight, as she realized what he was talking about. "Connor," she said quietly and pulled her hand away when he nodded silently.

"Why, Charlotte?" he asked, his voice a painful whisper. "Out of everyone you could have chosen, why my son?"

Finding it impossible to stay still, Charlie pushed to her feet and began to pace, her hands shoved into her pockets as she studied the ground beneath her feet. The silence grew between them, neither of them able or willing to break it, until Charlie couldn't bear the tension anymore. "Connor . . . pretty much asked me the same thing," she admitted stiffly as she stopped to stand in front of him, her eyes still downcast. "And I told him that he was cute and I was bored. But," she hastened to add, "we both knew that was a lie."

"Did you love him?"

Charlie's eyes widened and shot to Bass. He was still sitting on the well cover, his shoulders stiff with strain, his face set and expressionless, though Charlie could see the pain he was trying so hard to hide. How was she supposed to answer that? she wondered desperately. If she said yes, she could see him completely freaking out about being in a relationship with a woman who had been in love with his son. If she said no, would he think that she had merely used the son he had so recently lost? Charlie took a deep breath and decided to just answer him honestly.

"No," she whispered. "I didn't."

A muscle ticked in Bass' jaw, an indication of the emotions that were coursing through him, but he simply nodded. "So," he finally said flatly, "it was just sex."

Charlie flinched, both at the tone and the words he had used. "It wasn't 'just' anything," she replied, her eyes pleading with him to understand. "Bass, you have to understand, I was angry and confused and hurting; I. . . needed to forget for a while. We both did."

"Charlotte, there were dozens of men in New Vegas who could have helped you scratch an itch," Bass reminded her bluntly, crudely, and Charlie felt her temper slipping a bit. "There must have been more to it than that. You said you needed to forget," he reminded her. "What was it? What reason could there have possibly been for you to choose my son over every other man in New Vegas?"

Charlie shook her head and clenched her hands into fists to stop their trembling. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," she said hoarsely. "And it doesn't matter, anyway." She looked over at Bass, her eyes desperate and damp. "Talking about what happened . . . it won't undo it." Charlie walked towards him until she was standing between his legs and rested her hands on his shoulders. "Can't we just forget it?"

Bass leaned forward until his face was pressed against her stomach, his hands gripping her hips. "I can't," he told her desperately, his voice tortured. "I'd give my right arm if I could. But I can't get the image of the two of you out of my head. Maybe if I understood why it happened, I could let it go." He pulled back and looked up at her. "I swear to God, I'll never bring it up again. Just talk to me, Charlotte."

Charlotte drew a trembling breath and released it slowly. "I'm afraid," she admitted reluctantly.

"Don't be," Bass insisted. "Nothing you tell me is going to change how I feel about you."

"You can't know that," Charlie protested. "This is all still so new and . . . Connor was your _son_ and –"

"Charlotte," Bass interrupted and rose to stand in front of her, his hands gripping hers tightly. "Whatever it is won't matter to what's between us. But please, you have to understand, I need to put this to rest. I have to let it go and I can't do that unless you tell me why it happened."

Charlie stared up at him, her eyes searching his face and what she saw there must have reassured her. "I was . . . dealing with a lot in New Vegas," she admitted slowly. "You were confusing me pretty much on a daily basis. And I was confusing me even more." Charlie paused and Bass squeezed her hands in encouragement. "I didn't like what I was feeling. About you. I wasn't ready to admit that I was starting to care about you and it was really messing with my head. I just wanted it to stop and I thought –" She broke off and took a deep breath, her eyes sliding closed as she steeled herself against what she had to say. "I thought if I did something that would pretty much end any possibility of . . . _this_ happening . . . then those feelings would go away and I could go back to hating you in peace."

"And what better way of doing that then sleeping with my son," Bass said, his voice low. He pulled his hands away to rake through his hair and Charlie felt her stomach drop. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold, and turned her head to look anywhere but at him.

"Bass, I'm –"

"Don't," Bass interrupted roughly. Charlotte flinched and turned to move away but his hand shot out and gripped her arm. "If you were thinking of apologizing to me, please don't." She looked at him incredulously and found him watching her, his eyes intent.

"What?" she finally asked, her voice reflecting her shock.

"I'm not going to lie, Charlotte," he told her slowly. "I . . . hate that you were with Connor. But," he hastily added, "that doesn't mean that I don't understand why it happened."

"Bass, I don't –"

"Charlotte, just listen, please," he said. "The last fifteen years of my life have been nothing but anger, confusion, and self-hatred. Those feelings mess with your mind and you find yourself doing things that make sense at the time but just end up haunting you. So yeah," he told her, his voice gentle. "I get it. And I'm not going anywhere, OK?"

Charlie peered intently at Bass, her eyes searching his face in the fading twilight, and what she saw in his face caused her shoulders to slump in relief. She slowly walked back towards him and he rose to face her. Charlie twined her arms around his waist and pressed her face into the hollow of his throat. Bass returned her embrace, lowering his head to rest alongside hers and murmuring wordless comfort into her ear. Charlie pressed a kiss to the soft skin over his collarbone and tightened her arms around him.

"Will you really be able to let it go?" she finally asked, her voice hoarse with emotion.

"Already have," he whispered against the softness of her hair. "I'm grateful you trusted in us enough to tell me the truth, Charlotte. It's been put to rest and there's nothing else standing in our way. Well," he added, the sudden amusement in his voice surprising Charlie. "Nothing except Miles and Rachel."

"Please," Charlie scoffed as she nestled deeper into the warm strength of his body, tears of relief burning behind her closed eyelids, "child's play."

**AN: OK, the last half of this chapter took a WAY more serious turn than I had planned. I had thought to wrap things up with the "baby" comment but Bass and Charlie wanted to get all **_**serious**_** so I just went along for the ride. And I don't know if Bass calling Charlie "baby" is OOC but all I know is the idea of him calling me that – I mean her(!) in his awesome, sandpapery voice makes me go weak in the knees. Hope you agree:) BTW, my project went GREAT so thank you all for the good wishes and positive thoughts you sent my way. They definitely paid off and I really appreciate the support. I'm not sure if I'll be able to post another chapter this week as I have a couple more presentations coming up next week but I hope you like this latest update. I'd love to hear from you about it! XOXOXO**

**AN2: A reviewer just told me that Bass called Shelley "baby" - so glad that the pet name isn't out of character:D **


	19. Chapter 19

**Please be aware that the following chapter contains descriptions of, as the adorable Jake Peralta would say, romantic-stylez situations. It does NOT contain smut, but there is a scene of a somewhat intimate nature. If that type of thing isn't for you, please don't continue to read this chapter.**

Chapter 19

Bass shifted on his bedroll, wakefulness weaving its way through layers of sleep and forcing to open his eyes to the weak, creeping light of dawn. Stretching, he turned to his side to look across the room, his gaze going to the mattress to find . . . that it was empty. Bass rose quickly from the floor and moved rapidly through the front room into the kitchen, taking great care to tread lightly so as not to wake Gene, who had slept on the couch, or Miles and Rachel, who had taken one of the bedrooms down the hall. Not finding her in the kitchen, he peered through the windows into the back yard. Nothing. He hurried back into the living room and went to the front windows, quickly finding her sitting on the front steps. Sighing in relief, he slipped on his boots and went to join her.

Charlie was lost in thought as she watched the first pink fingers of dawn thread their way through the deep indigo sky. The early morning air was surprisingly cool and she breathed deep, enjoying the bracing sensation as it filled her lungs. She barely registered the sound of footsteps crossing the porch before she felt a familiar presence behind her as Bass sat down, his legs resting on either side of her. Charlie leaned back against him and reached for his hands, threading her fingers through his as she brought his arms forward to wrap around her. She sighed contentedly, cocooned in his warmth.

"What are you doing out here?" Bass murmured as his lips caressed her hair. "You should be asleep."

"I'm fine," Charlie replied. "I was just thinking."

"About me?"

Charlie chucked quietly. "No," she retorted. "Not everything is about you, Bass."

"Well, it should be," Bass said teasingly as he lowered his head to trace the shell of her ear with his lips. He grinned in triumph when he felt her shiver in reaction.

"We can't stay here."

Bass sighed and pressed his cheek against hers. "No, we can't," he agreed. "As much as I'd love to, we've been too lucky as it –" He broke off abruptly and straightened, though he kept his arms around her.

"Bass?" Charlie said questioningly as she turned her head to look up at him. "What is it?"

"Smoke," Bass said, his voice clipped and tense as his gaze stayed riveted on the horizon. Charlie's eyes whipped around and, moments later, widened when she saw the pale wisps of smoke scarring the soft pink of the sky.

"Patriots?"

"I don't know," Bass replied calmly. "But I'm going to find out." He stood and held his hand out, helping her to stand and leading her back into the cabin. He left her in the living room as he plunged into the shadowed hallway and threw open the door to Miles' and Rachel's bedroom. "Up and at 'em, Miles," Charlie heard him say grimly. "Smoke on the horizon. Looks like we're going to have company." Moments later Bass returned, Miles trailing behind him as he buttoned his pants, his gun strap slung over his shoulder.

"Where is it?" Miles asked as he grabbed the binoculars from their resting place on the windowsill.

"Couple of miles straight ahead," Bass replied as he followed Miles to the porch. "We need to check it out."

Miles peered through the field glasses, straining to see beyond an inconveniently placed rise. "Shit," he spat. "I can't make anything out."

"No kidding," Bass told him tersely. "We need to go see what's going on. Charlotte," he called quietly and turned to find her standing in the doorway. "You, Gene and Rachel start packing up. Even if it isn't Patriots, we need to get moving. Might as well do it today."

Charlie turned wordlessly and disappeared into the cabin. Miles handed the binoculars to Bass, his eyes never leaving the smoke. "We'll need to move fast if we're going to get there before they strike camp," he said grimly. "As it is, they may be on the move before we reach them."

"They might," Bass agreed as he raised the glasses to his eyes. "It's a chance we're going to have to take. We can't afford to take off without knowing who's on our ass. If it's just some schmuck hunting, fine, at least we'll know. But if it's Patriots, we need to make sure we're prepared."

"I had hoped we could give Charlie another couple of days," Miles murmured, his brow creased with worry as he glanced back at the cabin.

"Yeah, I know," Bass agreed. "But she told me this morning that we had to go. Charlotte's about as tough as they come, Miles."

"You don't need to tell me about my niece, Bass," Miles snapped. "I think I know her pretty well."

"For God's sake, Miles, take it easy," Bass sighed. "We've had the 'relationship' conversation. You don't like that Charlotte and I are together. Fine. Now is not the time to get into a pissing contest over who knows what about her. Can we at least agree on that?"

Miles abruptly turned on his heel and marched back into the cabin. Bass rolled his eyes and followed him, muttering under his breath about stubborn, thickheaded bastards. Entering the living room, he found that his bedroll had already been squared away and Charlie was filling a couple of canteens from the water bucket. Gene glanced between the two of them and quietly excused himself, muttering something about checking on the horses.

"You're going on foot?" she asked as she handed him a replenished canteen.

"It's the safest way," Bass said by way of reply as he hung the canteen strap across his chest. "Slower," he admitted, "but the horses would be impossible to hide and if we picketed them and they whinnied, they'd give us away." He grinned up at her as he sat on the couch to load his rifle and gun belt. "Don't worry," he assured her. "Miles and I might be getting up there but we can still run at a pretty decent pace."

"Yeah, two old codgers, the both of you," Charlie told him sarcastically. Suddenly serious, she sat next to him and gripped his wrist tightly. "Promise you'll be careful," she demanded urgently.

Bass' eyes softened and he raised his free hand, trailing gentle fingertips down her cheek. "Always," he assured her.

Miles and Rachel chose just that moment to enter the living room from the hallway but other than a tightening of Rachel's lips and Miles' frown becoming more pronounced at the moment they had interrupted, there was no reaction. "Come on, Bass," Miles said briskly as he walked towards the front door. Charlie reached out a hand to stop him and handed him a canteen. Miles smiled and chucked her under her chin. "Thanks, kid," he told her and went through the open door, Rachel following after him. Bass rose and held out his hand to Charlie, who rose and linked her fingers with his, her free hand crossing over to wrap around his forearm. Together they walked out to join the others.

"We'll be back in a couple hours at the most," Miles told them confidently. "We'll get to the top of the next rise and hopefully have a pretty good view of what's coming."

"Be ready to go when we get back," Bass said, his eyes on Charlie. "No matter who it is, we're going to need to move."

"We'll be ready," Charlie replied confidently. Bass squeezed her hand as he smiled down at her, then abruptly turned and walked down the steps. Miles embraced Rachel quickly and followed after him.

"Come on," Charlie said to her mother as they both watched the retreating figures grow smaller on the horizon. "They'll be back before we know it. And God help us if we're not ready when they get here."

BCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBC

Charlie stood on the porch, her eyes riveted to the rise over which Bass and Miles had disappeared over three hours ago. Her arms were folded across her breasts and her hands were clenched as her tension seemed to mount with each passing minute. Gene had insisted that Rachel wait inside for him, concerned that her anxiety might get to be too much if she stayed outside with Charlie. That was just fine with her, Charlie thought as she paced. She loved her mother but she didn't have the strength or patience to deal with Rachel right now, not when all she could think about was Bass. God, where was he? She pressed her fingers to her closed eyes, trying to keep from imagining what might be happening to Bass if they _had_ run into Patriots. Was Parker with them? Had Bass and Miles been found? Was Parker torturing them at that very moment? Charlie's stomach tightened and she felt nausea rise in her throat at the very thought. No, she assured herself harshly. They were fine. They'd be back before she – Charlie ran to the edge of the porch, her eyes straining. Had she seen something? Or was she just hoping that – no! Two figures – two men were moving quickly over the rise towards the cabin.

"Mom!" Charlie called urgently. "I think it's them!"

Rachel rushed out onto the porch, her rifle in one hand and Charlie's crossbow in the other. "Just in case," Rachel said as she handed her daughter the weapon. Charlie nodded and gripped the stock firmly.

Within moments the two men came clearly into view and Charlie gasped with relief. "It's them."

"Thank God," Rachel murmured, her shoulders slumping as the tension of the afternoon suddenly left her. "Now we just have to hope that they didn't find any Patriots."

The two women made their way down the porch steps and walked quickly towards Miles and Bass, meeting them just beyond the old yard boundary. "Patriots?" Rachel asked urgently, her hand reaching out to grip Miles'.

"No," Bass gasped, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees as he tried to regain his breath.

"Not sure who they were," Miles managed as he gulped down air. "Small group. Not heavily armed. We followed them for about an hour to make sure they were heading in a different direction."

"And were they?" Charlie asked, her hand moving soothingly over Bass' heaving shoulders.

"Due South," Bass responded as he finally straightened, his breathing evening out. "We'll keep heading North as far as we can and then turn West. No way in hell are we going through the Plains Nations."

"Are the horses ready?" Miles asked as he uncapped his canteen.

"We have them saddled," Charlie assured him. "I'll go get them."

"I'll help you," Bass volunteered, raising a hand to rest on her lower back as he followed her.

The two walked in silence to the garage, Bass glancing at Charlotte as they walked. When they finally reached the cool dimness of the garage he reached out and gently grasped her arm, pulling her to a stop.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

Charlie shook her head and folded her arms across her stomach, her hands gripping her elbows so tightly that her knuckles were white. "I . . . was worried," she said slowly. "You were gone so long and I kept wondering if they were Patriots and if Parker had you and all I could think of was what he was doing and –" She broke off abruptly and turned to him instinctively, her arms looping around his neck and pulling him into a tight embrace. "I don't like being afraid, Bass," she whispered. "And usually I can do something about it. But this time . . . this time all I could do was wait and worry about the two of you."

Bass ran his hands gently up and down Charlie's back, soothing as he returned her embrace. "It's alright," he assured her gently. "We're back and everything is fine."

"No, it's not," Charlie insisted as she pressed herself closer. "And it won't be as long as they're looking for you. I . . . feel sick when I think about seeing Parker again," she admitted reluctantly, hating herself for her weakness. "But he won't stop, Bass."

"I know," Bass said, staring blindly over her head. "Charlotte, it's never going to be easy with me," he told her softly. "Parker's death won't mean an end to trouble. There's always going to be someone trying to find President Monroe." He pulled back from her and lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. "If that's not something you can live with, you need to tell me now."

Charlie's eyes searched his and she saw what his words cost him, the fear that the thought of her leaving brought him, the self-hatred he felt for putting her in harm's way. The love. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt tears prick her eyes. "Idiot," she said tenderly. "I'm not going anywhere, got it?" She brushed the back of her fingers against his cheek and smiled at his look of relief.

"Got it," Bass murmured, his eyes dropping to her lips. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head, giving her plenty of time to pull back if she wasn't ready. But Charlie stepped closer to him, her arms tightening around his neck, and raised her lips to his. Her eyes slid closed and then – Oh, God, and then.

Bass' lips met hers and Charlie's last coherent thought was she had never expected them to be so soft. Then his mouth parted over hers and she stopped thinking completely, lost in the incredible sensation of his lips moving, shaping hers. Charlie moaned and tried to deepen the kiss but Bass kept it gentle, his hands slipping under the hem of her tank top and his rough, calloused fingers traversing the soft skin of her back, finally shifting to rest on her waist, spreading so that his thumbs caressed the sides of her breasts. Charlie gasped into his mouth and rose up on her toes to press her hips against his, rolling them sinuously. He growled deep in his throat and suddenly they were moving, Bass pushing her backwards until her back slammed up against the wall of the garage. His fingers found hers and he gripped them tightly, raising their joined hands to bracket her head, pressing them into the wall as he leaned into her. He ravaged her mouth and Charlie reveled in the desperate urgency of his kiss, in the wet, sensuous slide of his tongue as it met hers. His lips left hers and pressed wetly against the overly-sensitized skin of her neck, his tongue darting out to touch the racing pulse of her throat and Charlie felt the strength seep out of her legs, only the press of Bass' body against hers keeping her upright. "Bass," she gasped as her neck arched, her head lolling to the side when he found where her neck met her shoulder, biting down gently. In that moment, Charlie would have sworn that stars exploded behind her closed eyelids. His lips glided over her skin, traveling across her cheek until they captured her lips once again. Bass' hands released hers and tunneled into her hair, angling her head so that he could deepen the kiss and Charlie felt weak and empowered all at once. Her arms wrapped around his waist, hands fisting in his shirt as she moved to get as close to him as possible and yet it still wasn't enough, it would never be enough.

Bass abruptly pulled back and pressed his forehead against hers, both of them gasping for breath, still clinging to each other as if they had been fused into one. "Baby, we can't do this right now," he whispered harshly, his fingers still buried in the thickness of her hair.

"I know," Charlie replied, shaken by what had just happened. "We have to go. But not yet." She angled her head and pressed her lips to his, her tongue darting out to tangle with his and he groaned, the sound reverberating deep in his chest as his hands clenched against her scalp. His teeth nipped at her lower lip and she went wild, her hands sliding between them and fumbling at his belt. Bass pulled back and grasped her hands with his own, stopping their movements.

"We _definitely_ can't do that," he told her, his voice thick with passion and his eyes burning into hers.

"Why not?" she asked breathlessly, looking up at him from beneath her lashes and pressing her breasts against his chest.

Bass groaned and laughed, a choked sound torn from his throat, and pressed his forehead to the wall behind Charlie, his cheek brushing against hers. "In the first place," he explained, "our first time is _not_ going to be up against a garage wall." He pulled back enough to look down into her face, a tender smile flickering across his face. "You deserve more than that." Charlie bit her kiss-swollen lip and blinked back foolish tears. Bass brushed his nose against hers and dropped a kiss on its freckled tip, a devilish grin splitting his face. "And in the second place, I intend to take my time with you, Charlotte Matheson. And that definitely can't happen with your family waiting for us to bring the horses out front."

"Well," Charlie drawled as her hands crept beneath his shirt to smooth over the skin just above his waistband, "I _guess_ those are good enough reasons." She rose up on her toes and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. "At least for now." Charlie moved around him and gathered up the reins to two of the mounts and began to walk out of the garage. She stopped and looked back to see if Bass was following her. He was standing where she had left him, his back to her, one hand pressed against the wall and the other clenched around the back of his neck. "You know, I can't take all of these horses by myself," she reminded him.

Bass glanced over his shoulder at her and grimaced. "Yeah, I'll be along in a minute."

It took her a minute to understand his predicament. When Charlie finally realized what was wrong, she grinned impishly. "Problem?" she asked sweetly.

"For the moment."

"Want some help?"

"You stay right there!" Bass almost shouted, twisting at the waist to hold out a restraining hand.

"I was just going to suggest thinking of something . . . unromantic," Charlotte told him guilelessly.

"What did you have in mind?" Bass asked warily, his eyes narrowed as they moved over her deceptively innocent face.

"My mother. Walking in on us. With a butcher knife."

Bass' eyes widened and he shuddered. "Yep," he said grimly. "That'll do it."

Charlie's laughter trailed behind her as she led the horses out of the garage.

**AN: So here, finally, is the first real kiss for Charlie and Bass:)**** I really hope it lived up to your expectations, especially as I've never written a romantic scene before. I know I say this a lot, but thank you so much for reading, favoriting, and following my story. And I seriously can't thank you all enough for your incredible reviews and comments. They truly do make my day and I am so grateful that you have taken the time to let me know what you think of my writing/story. As always, reviews and comments on this newest update are most welcome. I can't wait to hear from you! XOXOXO**


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Bass had been sent to ride point while the rest of the group dismounted and walked their horses, the weary animals desperately needing a respite from the breakneck speed their riders had demanded of them since their departure from the cabin. Charlie found herself constantly scanning the horizon in search of Bass and trying not to think of the last time she had ridden point, when she had fallen into the hands of the Patriots and their sadistic interrogator. So lost was she in her thoughts that she didn't notice Rachel moving to walk next to her until her mother spoke.

"Charlie."

She started slightly and looked over to find Rachel walking abreast of her, a troubled expression on her face. "Mom, what's wrong?" Charlie asked, concerned.

Rachel studied her for a moment longer, her brow slightly furrowed in thought. "I couldn't help but notice," she finally said, "that you and Monroe looked a bit . . . disheveled when you came out of the garage."

Charlie raised an eyebrow but didn't respond, calmly returning her mother's gaze and waiting for her to continue.

"What happened in there, Charlie?"

"OK, first of all, that's between Bass and me," Charlie replied firmly. "And secondly, you don't need me to tell you any more than I need you to tell me what's going on with you and Miles."

Rachel flinched and at least had the grace to look slightly ashamed, though she held stubbornly to her original point. "Charlie, whatever is between Miles and me, Bass is a different story. I don't want you involved with someone who –"

"Who what, Mom?" Charlie interjected harshly. "Cares for me? Makes me feel safe and happy and needed? And who makes me what to do the same for him? Because that's what he does for me. I'm not going to give that up and please, don't do the whole 'I'm your mother and know best' thing or ask me to choose because I promise you won't like what happens."

Rachel stared at her daughter, her eyes wide and dark in her suddenly pale face. "Oh, my God," she breathed. "You think you're in love with him."

Charlie paled and turned away from her mother's incredulous gaze. "You're being ridiculous."

"Oh, honey, I'd give just about anything in the world if I thought that was true," Rachel told her resignedly. "But I don't think it is."

"Mom, I care about him, OK? But this thing between us is really new and, yeah, we both know it's kind of messed up. We _need_ each other but . . . I don't think that's love."

"How would you know?" Rachel asked quietly as she took in her daughter's profile. "Charlie, in spite of everything you've seen and done since your dad was killed, you're still so inexperienced." Charlie's head whipped around and her mouth opened to retort but Rachel cut her off. "No, listen to me," she insisted. "You know how to fight and hunt, how to kill. You've learned how to survive in this awful world that your father and I helped to create." Rachel's voice broke and she shook her head, blinking back tears as she fought to control the guilt that was threatening to overwhelm her. "There's more to living than just survival," she finally continued. "I'm not naïve enough to think that you've never . . . been with anyone." Charlie surprised herself by blushing but she kept her eyes on her mother, shocked at what she was hearing. "But sex and love don't always go together. There's more to love than that. There's tenderness, selflessness, compassion, understanding. Wanting more for that person than you want for yourself. Even when you're fighting or you feel like you can't be in the same room with them, those things never go away." Rachel's eyes drifted to Miles and he, as if feeling her gaze on his back, turned and smiled at her over his shoulder, the look that passed between them conveying an intimacy that struck Charlotte to the core. Rachel turned back to Charlie and she was surprised to see tears in her mother's eyes. "If you have that with Bass –" Rachel stopped and shrugged helplessly. "All I've ever wanted for you is that you're safe and happy. I don't know if any of us will ever be safe again. But Charlie, if he makes you happy . . . I won't do anything to get in the way. I'll kill him if he hurts you," she added swiftly, her voice taking on a diamond-hard edge. "I mean that. But this is your choice. I'll respect whatever decision you make."

Charlie swallowed thickly and struggled through her shock to try to think of something to say. Finally she simply nodded and lowered her head to watch the ground as it passed under her feet. Rachel moved a little closer and reached a hand out to gently brush it over Charlie's hair. "It's going to be OK, Charlie," she assured her quietly.

Charlie turned to look at her mother and suddenly she was hugging her, arms wrapped tight around her. Charlie felt Rachel's jerk of surprise and then she was hugging her daughter back, their embrace conveying love, understanding, comfort and, most importantly, forgiveness. "Thanks, Mom," she whispered hoarsely.

Rachel stepped back and gently cupped Charlie's cheek in her hand. "I love you, Charlie," she told her.

"Love you, too."

Rachel smiled, her fingers brushing softly over her daughter's cheek, and stepped away, allowing Charlie to walk ahead of her. Gene moved up to stand next to Rachel, his eyes studying Charlie before they moved to his daughter. He slipped an arm around her shoulder and brought her against his side. "That can't have been easy for you," he murmured.

Rachel released a shuddering breath and leaned into her father. "It wasn't," she admitted. "But it would have been harder to have lost her. I'm nowhere near happy about this," she added quietly, not wanting Charlie to catch their conversation. "Out of all the men left on earth, I would have never chosen Sebastian Monroe to be with my daughter. I still have to fight the impulse to murder him in his sleep. But everything all of you have said over the past few days . . . " She paused and shrugged. "Damn it, you're not wrong. It's going to take me a while to get used to this new reality of ours."

Gene smiled down at his daughter and tightened his arm around her. "I know, honey," he acknowledged. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Dad," Rachel smiled, turning to look up at him. "I know I don't say this enough but I'm so glad you're here."

Gene dropped a light kiss on Rachel's brow. "Wouldn't be anywhere else."

"Rider's coming!" Miles shouted and the tiny column immediately halted, weapons at the ready. A voice drifted across the distance and Charlie slumped in relief. It was Bass.

"What did you find?" Miles asked as Bass drew near the group.

Bass reined in and dismounted, wiping his forearm across his damp brow. Charlie handed him her canteen and he smiled his thanks before raising it to his lips. He took long, deep gulps of water before lowering it and sighing in relief. "I actually found an old state highway sign," he told them. "Damndest thing. I was just riding along and suddenly there it was – state highway 20. We're about seven miles from Sweetwater."

"That's great!" Gene exclaimed. "We can get actual supplies! We need more honey and if we can find a doctor in town I can try to get –"

"Hold up there, Gene," Miles interjected. "Towns mean people and that can mean Patriots. We don't want to risk running into one of their patrols." He turned back to Bass and jerked his head towards Sweetwater. "Did you see any patrols while you were out?"

"Nothing," Bass answered immediately. "No traffic on the road, either. That doesn't mean anything," he admitted, "but if they had a camp near the town, you'd expect to see _something_."

"Should we risk it?" Miles asked.

Bass glanced at the other three, his eyes lingering on Charlie, before he turned back to Miles. "I say we keep riding, try to get within five miles of town, find a place to camp tonight, and do some scouting as soon as it gets dark. If we see anything we don't like, we can cut off and go another way. Five miles isn't much but it'll give us enough of a cushion if we see Patriots."

"Sounds good to me," Miles agreed. He glanced at the sky and found the sun was well into its evening descent. "We'd better get moving if we want to cover two miles before dark and find a place to spend the night." He looked over at Charlie and his eyes narrowed in concern. "You OK for this, kid?" he asked.

"I'm fine, Miles," she assured him as she swung up into the saddle, affectionate exasperation in her voice. "I promise I'm not going to break."

Bass settled into his saddle and nudged his horse to stand next to Charlie's. She glanced over at him and smiled but Bass saw a hint of uncertainty in her eyes and frowned. Before he could say anything, they were moving and the opportunity was lost.

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Charlie reached to drag the saddle from her horse's back and suddenly other hands were there to take care of it for her. She looked over her shoulder and found Bass behind her, the saddle resting on one of his forearms.

"What are you doing?" she asked, a little surprised at his sudden appearance.

"Your wound is still healing," he replied simply, shifting the saddle to rest on his shoulder. "I didn't want you to strain it by trying to deal with the saddle on your own."

"Bass, I could have done –"

He stepped close to her and wrapped his free hand around the back of her neck, his thumb caressing the soft skin under her jaw. "Baby, a little over a week ago I had to help hold you down while Gene cut away part of your shoulder and then burned it shut with a hunting knife so you didn't bleed to death. I know that you can take care of yourself but . . . let me do this, OK?"

Charlie smiled up at him and rested a hand against his chest. "OK," she murmured, her eyes soft as they gazed into his. Bass nudged her chin up and lowered his head to press his lips gently against hers. Unlike their passionate embrace in the garage, this was a tender exploration, lips meeting lightly, clinging, and Charlie sighed as she moved closer, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

Bass pulled back slightly and raised his hand to brush his thumb across her damp lips. "Was everything alright earlier?" he asked abruptly, his eyes intent on her face. "When I got back from scouting I thought you were acting like something was bothering you."

Charlie dropped her eyes from his and focused on one of the buttons of his collar. "Everything was fine," she replied as her fingers moved to fiddle with the button. "Mom and I just had a little talk and –" She shrugged, suddenly unsure as to how to proceed.

"Did Rachel upset you?" Bass asked tersely, a hint of ire in his voice.

"No," Charlie insisted immediately, her eyes snapping back to his. "I was just surprised by what she said."

"Which was?" Bass promoted when Charlie didn't elaborate.

"She . . . she said that she wasn't going to interfere with us," Charlie said, forcing herself not to break eye contact as she told him the half-truth. "That she was going to respect my choice. It just threw me a little."

"While I'm real glad to hear that, are you sure that was all it was?" Bass asked as he peered down at her.

"Bass, considering the way she reacted to this whole thing, I think that's enough, don't you?"

"Oh, that's plenty," Bass admitted wryly. "But I've noticed you haven't actually answered my question."

"Anything else was just between Mom and me," Charlie insisted, gentling her reproach by rising on her tiptoes to press a quick peck against his lips.

"Alright," Bass agreed, though Charlie could tell he was a bit reluctant to leave the subject behind. "Miles and I are going to head out as soon as it gets dark," he told her, casting an eye at the rapidly setting sun. "Don't risk a fire. If there are Patriots around, we don't want to run the risk of drawing their attention."

"How will you find us?" Charlie asked, her brows creased in concern.

"There'll be a full moon tonight," Bass assured her as he combed his fingers through her hair. "Plenty of light to see by."

"Bass!"

He turned to find Miles standing a few feet away, holding the reins of both of their horses. Miles jerked his head at Bass. "Come on, man, we need to get going."

"Gimme a second," he called back and grinned when Miles rolled his eyes as he shook his head. Bass looked down at Charlie and tightened his fingers in her hair, bringing her lips up to his for a quick but intense kiss. "We'll be back soon," he assured her as he walked away, stopping to drop her saddle next to Rachel's and then joined Miles. Charlie watched, her heart in her eyes, as he mounted his horse and rode away.

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Charlie sat propped up against her saddle, her crossbow across her lap as she took her turn at keeping watch. The full moon had risen hours ago and spilled its gentle light across the open terrain. She glanced at her two companions, the stillness of their forms and their even breathing indicating that they were deeply asleep. Charlie shifted and adjusted her grip on the stock of her weapon as she tried not to dwell on all of the trouble Miles and Bass could have encountered on their way to and from Sweetwater. The problem was that, if she wasn't thinking about that, she was thinking about what Rachel had said – that she was in love with Bass. Charlie sighed as her head fell back and she stared blindly up at the stars. Rachel had been right about one thing, she admitted to herself. She hadn't exactly been emotionally invested in any of her past "relationships", if they could even be called that. Except for Jason. Charlie's eyes darkened with pain as she allowed her thoughts to drift to the boy she had cared about and been forced to kill. Had she loved Jason? Had she felt for him everything her mother had described? She had cared for him, had wanted to be with him and fight alongside him. But had it been love or the need to make a connection with another human being in a terrible situation? Charlie honestly didn't know. And they really hadn't had the opportunity to see how much deeper the relationship could go. With Bass, though . . . in spite of all the reasons she should hate him, in spite of everything that should keep them apart and how quickly they had come together, he dominated her thoughts. In the space of just a few months, the way she saw him and the way she felt about him had completely changed. And, Charlie thought wryly, the physical attraction was beyond anything she had experienced before. She had damn near gone up in flames in that garage. She was willing to admit that she needed him and cared about him. She could admit that she wanted him. Could she take the next step and admit that she was in love with Sebastian Monroe? The sound of rapidly approaching horses snapped her from her reverie and she leapt to her feet, crossbow at the ready.

"Mom!" she hissed, keeping her eyes trained on the darkness. She heard Rachel throw off her blanket and suddenly she was next to her, a rifle in her hands. The moonlight soon revealed two familiar figures and Charlie released a sigh of relief. Miles and Bass rode into camp and dismounted, immediately leading the horses over to where the other mounts were picketed and started to unhitch the saddles.

"What did you find?" Charlie asked as she and Rachel walked over to the two men.

"No sign of any Patriots," Miles replied wearily as he slid the saddle from his horse's back. "Good size population in town from what we could see. Maybe a couple hundred people. We can try to resupply but Bass and I want to get in and out as quickly as possible."

"It makes me nervous to think about staying in a town that size for too long," Bass interjected has he hefted his saddle to his shoulder, gripping it by the horn. "The Patriots are bound to find it eventually and we don't want to be there when they do. We can head in tomorrow morning. Not too early. We don't want to look suspicious."

"Come on," Rachel said as she reached out and wrapped her hand around Miles' bicep. "We can figure the details out in the morning. You have to be beat." She led Miles towards the camp and Charlie looked over at Bass, holding her hand out towards him. He linked their fingers and fell into step beside her. He jerked to a stop when he saw his blanket spread out next to hers.

"Um . . . I don't know if this is such a great idea," Bass said quietly, glancing over at Miles and Rachel.

"Bass, it's fine," Charlie insisted as she sat down and forced him to follow her. "Mom is taking the next watch, I'm tired, you're exhausted. Not exactly the most romantic situation. I think we'll be OK. As long as you can control yourself," she added with a cheeky grin as she lay down on the bedroll.

Bass knelt on his blanket and grinned back as he set his saddle at the top of his bedroll. "I make no promises," he replied seriously. He settled himself on the bedroll and spread the blankets over himself and Charlie, reaching out and snagged her around the waist. Charlie moved willingly into his embrace, her back pressed tightly against his chest as his arms wrapped around her. Bass buried his face in her hair and sighed contentedly. Before either of them realized it, they had drifted into sleep.

**AN: I am so disappointed that NBC has cancelled Revolution. I mean, yeah, I think we all kind of saw it coming but still. I think I'm most upset about the way the writers and NBC completely trashed the show, especially with the long hiatus and the month-long gaps between episodes. Don't even get me started about how they've been trying to ruin Bass' redemption this season. And the Rachel/Bass kiss?! No. Just, no. Revolution had – and still has – such great potential. I really hope another channel picks it up. Anyway, I felt like I needed to write something after I heard the terrible news and so here's Chapter 19.** **Please forgive any mistakes, as I really wanted to get this posted as quickly as possible. Thank you all so much for the amazing reviews/comments for my last chapter. I'm so thrilled that you liked it and that the kiss was worth waiting for. You are all amazing and I'm really grateful for your continued interest in and support for my story. I'll try to get another chapter up later next week as I have two more projects to work on. Thank you for all the good thoughts you've sent my way – they've definitely paid off! As always, reviews/comments are most welcome. I love to hear from you! XOXO**


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Charlie stirred, opened her eyes, and smiled as she took in her present situation. Sometime during the night, she and Bass had rearranged themselves until Charlie's head was pillowed on his shoulder with her arms wrapped around his waist. One of Bass' legs had slipped between hers and she tightened the grip of her knee where it rested across his hip. All in all, not a bad way to start the day, she thought dreamily. She closed her eyes and nuzzled into the curve of his neck; Bass' arms tightened around her and he sighed. "Morning," he murmured, his lips moving against her cheek.

"Hmmm," Charlie replied, unwilling to disrupt the warm, blissful cocoon she found herself in. She felt Bass move and glanced up to find him craning his neck to look around the camp.

"Who else is up?" Charlie whispered.

"Gene's awake," came the quite reply. "Looks like he took over the watch from Rachel. But," he added mischievously, "it looks like he's going to make another sweep of the perimeter." Bass turned back to Charlie, and grinned. "Wanna make the most of it?"

Charlie chuckled and slid her fingers into Bass' blond curls, bringing his mouth down to her and she felt herself melt at the first touch of his lips. Forget the blackout; she felt jolts of electricity shooting through her body straight down to her toes and she moaned softly. Their lips moved together languorously, mouths fused as their tongues met and retreated in a sensuous dance. Bass ran his hand along Charlie's leg, pulling it higher over his hip and she gasped, taking advance of the brief separation to nip at his lower lip, soothing the brief sting with the soft brush of her tongue. Bass groaned and shifted until he was laying half on top of her and Charlie reveled in the press of his weight as his lips reclaimed hers. Charlie felt engulfed in heat as the kiss turned forceful, Bass' fingers digging into her hips as he leaned more fully into the cradle of her body. Charlie's hands trailed down Bass' sides and inched under his shirt, her nails lightly scoring his back, taught skin stretched over flexing muscle. Bass grunted and moved a hand to gently cup her jaw, his thumb pressing on her chin to open her mouth wider to the penetration of his tongue. Just as Charlie was wondering how she was going to tear Bass' clothes off without breaking contact with him, their passionate little bubble was pierced by the loud, almost theatrical coughing of her grandfather.

Bass groaned and rolled off of Charlie, coming to rest on his back as he flung an arm across his eyes. "Damn it," he muttered.

Charlie surprised herself by giggling as she shifted to rest against Bass' side and nestled her head against his shoulder, her lips gently caressing his throat.

"Sun'll be up any minute," Gene called with overblown geniality. "Miles, Rachel, let's go! Charlie and . . . everyone, time to get moving!"

Bass chuckled in spite of himself and tunneled his fingers into Charlie's hair, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and sat them both up. "Back to reality," he murmured. Charlie smiled up at him and stood, putting a little extra swing in her hips as she walked towards her grandfather. She heard Bass chuckle behind her and she grinned. Nope, she thought to herself. Not a bad way at all.

**AN: I'm sorry this is so short but I have been absolutely buried under the work my profs have given me for my presentations next week and I wanted to post something so you wouldn't think I had abandoned the fic. Rest assured the next update will be MUCH longer and will be posted by this time next week (at least, that's the plan!). I hope you enjoy this mini-chapter. As always, reviews/comments are most welcome and thank you to everyone who has commented on previous posts. You guys are fantastic! XOXO**


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

**AN: Fair warning – I've never been to Sweetwater, TX so my depiction of it is purely from my own imagination:)**** Also, this chapter contains scenes of intimacy so if that isn't your thing or you're not old enough to read it, please stop now.**

Bass reined in just within sight of Sweetwater and the rest of the group caught up with him. "Alright, don't forget to keep it tight while we're in town. Don't give any unnecessary details. But," he added, "they shouldn't ask too many questions. People have gotten used to playing things pretty close to the vest since the blackout. Stick to the main street or as close to it as you can – you're not there for recon. Find a boardinghouse and I'll meet you on the other side of town tomorrow."

"Wait a minute!" Charlie declared hotly, nudging her horse to turn so that she could fully face Bass. "What do you mean 'you'll meet us'? Aren't you going to come with us?"

"No way," Bass replied immediately. "I don't care if there are Patriots there or not. I'm not running the risk that someone might recognize me and then we'd all be sunk."

"Don't be an idiot," Charlie snapped. "What are you going to do, stay awake and keep watch all night? That'd be just great. You'd be exhausted tomorrow and then what good would you be? And how would anyone recognize you? We're so far outside your old borders, the likelihood of anyone knowing you is –"

"Charlotte, this isn't up for discussion," Bass told her calmly.

"Wanna bet?" she shot back, her cheeks flushed with anger. "You're not the President anymore, Bass, you don't get to just make these decisions on your own."

"Charlie, Bass and I discussed this last night and –" Miles began but Charlie cut him off.

"Oh, _really_?" she interjected, her voice going cold as she glared at Bass. "You and _Miles_ made this decision? That's just great."

Bass dismounted and tossed his reign to Miles, his face stony. "Charlotte, a word?" He didn't wait for her but walked several yards away from the group, his angry strides eating up the distance. Charlie was tempted to just stay on her horse but dismounted, her movements still a bit slow and stiff because of the wound in her leg, and made her way over to Bass.

"What the hell, Charlotte?" Bass asked tensely, his voice pitched low to keep the conversation just between the two of them.

"I could ask you the same thing," she hissed back, her arms crossed defensively over her breasts.

"Because I decided not to stay in town?" he asked incredulously. "Charlotte, it would be too dangerous for me to go in with all of you."

"So you'd rather put yourself in danger by camping by yourself, no one to watch your back, on the outside chance that someone thousands of miles from the old Republic might recognize you?" Charlie shook her head, shoulders hunched. "No."

"Charlotte, Miles and I decided –"

"And that's another thing!" Charlie interjected hotly as she glared at him. "You talked to Miles about this but not to me? What's that all about?"

"Of course I talked to Miles!" Bass exclaimed, forgetting to keep his voice down. "We've relied on each other pretty much all our lives! How is it such a shock that we discussed this?"

"Bass, as strange as it might seem to other people, we're supposed to be together," Charlie replied, allowing some of the hurt she felt to show in her eyes. "So what do you expect me to think when I find out you've decided to break off from us – from _me – _and didn't feel the need to speak to me about it first?"

Bass stood silently for a moment, his shoulders rigid, before the tension left him and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're right," he admitted softly. "I'm just . . ." He paused and spread his hands in a shrug. "I'm not used to there being anyone else to go to about this stuff." Bass walked over to Charlie and gently ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. "I guess I'm going to have to change the way I do things, huh?"

"Yeah," Charlie replied as she reached up to link her fingers with his. "You really are."

"OK," Bass murmured as he leaned forward to press his lips to her brow. "But let's make this quick, huh?"

"Fine," Charlie shot back. "You're not staying out on your own."

"If anyone recognizes me, Charlotte, you're all going to pay for it," he replied immediately, his eyes tormented. "Baby, you've suffered enough because of me." His gaze dropped to her shoulder and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. "I'm not going to run any unnecessary risks with your safety."

"Then I'm staying out with you."

"You are not," Bass said firmly. "You'll be safer and more comfortable in town."

"You can't stop me," Charlie retorted as she shook her blonde curls over her shoulder. "Go ahead," she encouraged smartly. "Stay outside of town. I'll find you." She gripped the front of his shirt and peered up at him, a frown wrinkling her forehead. "You're talking about how much my safety means to you," Charlie said urgently. "Why would you think that yours is any less important to me? I couldn't stand thinking of you out there by yourself. What if the Patriots found you? Or a war clan? What if something happens and we can't find each other?" She shook her head, never taking her eyes from his. "No," she insisted. "We're all sticking together."

"What would you suggest?" Bass asked as his arms twined around her, hands linking at the small of her back.

"Stay here until dark," Charlie told him. "I'll meet you at the edge of town and take you wherever we're staying. We'll sneak in a back way and you'll be in our room before anyone knows we're there."

"_Our_ room?" Bass repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"Oh, please," Charlie scoffed, her fingers slipping between the buttons of his shirt to lightly brush his chest. Bass' arms tightened around her and she grinned. "You think if we find a boarding house with beds, pillows, clean sheets, and locks on the door that I'm going to be sleeping alone?"

"Why, Charlotte Matheson," he murmured, his voice low, "I'm shocked."

"No, you're not," Charlie replied, her voice taking on some sass as she extricated herself from his grasp. "But you will be." She started back towards the group and glanced over her shoulder to find Bass standing exactly where she had left him. "The sooner we get there –" she called and broke off when he jogged to join her.

"You're going to be the death of me," he said, his voice low and rough with arousal. He slid an arm across her back and his hand found its way into her back pocket, cupping the curve of her butt and massaging it firmly.

"Mmmmm," Charlie sighed, leaning heavily into his side. "Not if we do it right."

"Bass, would you do me a favor and get your hand off of my niece's ass?" Miles growled as they neared the others. Charlie bit her lip to keep from smiling and slowly stepped away from Bass as he raised both hands in a gesture of mock surrender.

"I assume the plans have changed?" Gene asked, anxious to change the topic as quickly as possible.

"I'll be waiting outside of town until dark," Bass informed them as he took his reins from a still-glowering Miles. "Charlotte will come to meet me and sneak me into wherever it is you're staying."

Miles frowned and opened his mouth to speak but Charlie spoke up first. "It'll be fine, Miles," she assured him as she prepared to mount her horse. Bass moved to her side and set his hands at her waist, lifting her until her foot caught the stirrup so she didn't strain her wounded leg. Charlie settled into the saddle and smiled her thanks at him.

"Charlie, I don't think it will be as simple or straightforward as you think," Miles warned, concern evident in his voice. "If he's recognized –"

"What if _you're_ recognized, Miles?" Charlie asked calmly. "You were as much as part of the Republic as he was. And probably almost as popular."

"The Patriots didn't torture you to get to Miles," Rachel said harshly.

"Don't, Rachel," Bass snapped as he maneuvered his horse to the side of the group. "There's nothing more important to me than Charlotte's safety," he assured her in a calmer tone. "If I didn't think this could work, I wouldn't have agreed to it no matter what she said to me." Bass leaned closer to Rachel and lowered his voice. "So relax before you say something you can't take back."

Rachel pressed her lips together, her face flushed with annoyance, but she nodded tightly and turned away. Miles looked as though he might say something but merely shook his head and lightly kicked his horse's sides. The little convoy began to move towards Sweetwater while Charlie lingered for a moment with Bass.

"I'll meet you just after dark," Charlie told him, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "And not a second later."

"Oh, I'll be here," Bass assured her as he reached out to grip the back of her neck, pulling her towards him. "You can count on that." He pressed his lips to hers in a brief, heated kiss and then released her, grinning as she cantered off to join her family. Sunset couldn't come fast enough.

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Charlie rode next to Gene as they followed Rachel and Miles down the main street in Sweetwater. In spite of the fact that the old blacktop was cracked and buckled, the broad avenue was actually quite charming. Turn of the 20th century brick storefronts lined the street and, in spite of the blackout, it seemed as though the remaining residents had done their best to maintain their town. Most of the buildings still had glass in their windows and Charlie was shocked into doing a double take when she saw an actual café sandwiched between a bar and what looked to be a dry goods store.

Miles directed his horse towards the far side of the street and pulled up in front of a makeshift hitching post. Dismounting, he waited for the others to join him before he turned to enter the store. Charlie followed him, stepping into the cool, sun-dappled interior of the building. Large barrels lined one side of the room and a row of shelves bisected the remaining space, small burlap bags neatly lining each shelf. While Miles chatted with the storeowner, Charlie wandered along the aisle, eyes drifting from one section to the next. A couple of loaves of fresh bread, oatmeal, salt, flour, sorghum. She picked up a thick round disc, about twice the width of her hand, which was covered tightly in waxed cotton and turned it over experimentally. Was it . . . She blinked in surprise. It was! Cheese! And next to that were several small bags labeled as beef jerky! Charlie felt her mouth begin to water. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten any meat other than venison or wild boar. She set the waxed disc down regretfully and sighed as she took a last look at the beef jerky. They must cost the earth, she thought mournfully.

"Find anything?"

Charlie turned to find Miles standing behind her, a knowing smile on his face.

"They have cheese, Miles!" she told him, excitement leaching into her voice in spite of herself. "And beef jerky! When was the last time we saw anything like that?"

"Been a while," Miles replied thoughtfully. "Might be nice to treat ourselves, don't you think?"

"It wouldn't be very practical," Charlie said reluctantly. "The cheese would go bad so quickly."

"That's assuming there would be anything left," Miles replied. "As I recall, your mother loves cheese. And so did you, when you were little."

"I can't believe you remember that," Charlie said, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Of course I remember," Miles said, teasingly indignant. "You were my little buddy whenever I came home on leave. I did everything I could to spoil you rotten. And since I have a chance to spoil you a little now, I think I will." Miles reached past her and picked up one of the wheels of cheese and _two_ bags of beef jerky. "I think that'll do it, don't you?"

Charlie linked her arm with his and butted her shoulder against his. "Thanks, Miles," she said gruffly.

Miles nudged her back and walked with her towards the counter. "Any time, kid."

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By the time they left the store, they had purchased flour, salt, sorghum, oatmeal, salt pork, bacon, candles, a precious little bottle of kerosene, a small bag of pecans, dried fruit, and honey. There were even some fresh carrots and potatoes. The supplies were loaded into burlap sacks and tied to the saddle of their extra horse. And, to everyone's relief, the shopkeeper had given them directions to a boarding house – a sprawling red brick Victorian house – just a couple of blocks away. When they arrived they found that, not only were there rooms available, but the landlady was thrilled to have tenants, even if it was only for one night. Though it came as no surprise to Charlie, apparently Sweetwater wasn't exactly bursting at the seams with visitors at the moment.

Charlie stood in the doorway to her room and allowed her gaze to wander. Though the house had seen better days – and really, what or who hadn't? – the old hardwood floors gleamed in the fading sunlight and the colorful hand-braided rugs were swept clean. The high ceilings were bordered by intricate crown molding, the walls had been whitewashed somewhat recently as they were still brightly white, and there was even a marble-trimmed fireplace with a mirror hanging above it. The glass was slightly cracked but it was intact enough for Charlie to see that she desperately needed to ask for some water to clean off the dust. And then there was the bed – the big, old-fashioned iron bedstead had been pushed up against a wall opposite the fireplace and looked so comfortable that Charlie couldn't help herself. She flopped onto the mattress and sighed as her head sank into the soft down pillows. OK, so the mattress sagged a bit in the middle and the linens were a little threadbare, but the room was clean, comfortable . . . and private.

Charlie glanced over at one of the two large windows and pushed herself off the bed to inspect them. The first one looked out over the slightly bedraggled front yard. It was a nice enough view, but certainly not her favorite because the other window faced the alley, which worked out perfectly. As Charlie tried to open it, her foot caught in something and she stumbled. Swallowing a curse, she glanced down and grinned. It was a very basic fire escape – a rope with evenly placed knots tied along its length that could be lowered out of the window to allow the room's occupant to escape the flames. It couldn't have been better – a rear facing window AND a rope! Now all she had to do was wait for dark. Well, that and have a bath.

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Freshly bathed and wearing her cleanest set of clothes, Charlie knocked on her mother's room and was unsurprised when Miles answered the door.

"Hey, kid," he greeted her. "Getting ready to . . . go for your walk?"

"Yeah, I wanted to let you know before I left," Charlie replied casually. "I shouldn't be gone long. Is Mom awake?"

"I'm here," Rachel replied as she came up behind Miles. He stepped to the side and Rachel moved forward, leaning against the doorjamb. "Heading out?"

"I'll be back soon," Charlie told her in response. "Don't worry, OK?"

"Charlie, both you and I know that isn't going to happen," Rachel told her drily. "I'm your mother. I'll always worry. Maybe someday – in a very, _very_ long time – you'll understand what I mean." She reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind Charlie's ear in a somewhat uncharacteristically maternal gesture. "Be safe, honey. And let me know the minute you get back. I'll tell Grandpa to expect company."

"Mom, you don't need to do that."

"Grandpa has to know when Bass is going to –"

"No, Mom, listen to me. Bass isn't going to be with Grandpa, OK?"

Rachel's jaw clenched as she allowed herself to realize what Charlie was telling her. "Charlie, _no_," she whispered tightly. "You can't commit yourself like that to _Sebastian Monroe_. Honey, I don't think you're anywhere near ready to –"

"No, Mom, you're the one who isn't ready," Charlie interrupted, her voice quiet but firm. "And this isn't a debate. I wouldn't have said anything if you hadn't mentioned telling Grandpa, but that kind of forced it out of me. You've been so great the last couple of days," she told her mother almost imploringly. "Please, just trust that I know what I'm doing." Charlie made a point to look over Rachel's shoulder at Miles, who was sitting on the bed, reclining against the headboard. "Kind of like I trust you."

Rachel pressed a hand against her forehead and closed her eyes. "Charlie, it's not about trust," she insisted. "At least, about trusting you. It's him that . . . I'm not ready to trust him like that with you."

"Well, I am," Charlie replied, a hint of steel in her voice. "Look, Mom, I've got to go. I'll stop by when I get back." Without waiting for an answer, she whirled on her heel and strode down the hallway, Rachel gazing after her with tears in her eyes.

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Charlie held the horse down to a walk until she passed the edge of town and then urged him into a trot. As much as she wanted to gallop to Bass, she didn't want to miss him in the barely-illuminated darkness. Her eyes continually swept the flat landscape as her mount's long legs ate up the ground. Suddenly a shape emerged from the blackness and Charlie reined her mount in.

"Bass!"

"The sun never took so long to set," Bass said sincerely as he rode up next to her. "You found a boarding house?"

"Just a couple of blocks past Main Street," Charlie answered. "And my room has a window facing the alley. There's a rope fire escape, so we don't have to try sneaking you through the house. It's perfect."

"That's great," Bass replied. "Any chance for something to eat when we get there?"

"More than a chance," Charlie replied a little smugly. "I had the landlady send some food up before I left. And," she said, drawing the word out tantalizingly, "I had her refill the bath."

"Are you serious?" Bass exclaimed, excitement in his voice.

"Yep," Charlie told him, grinning. "I told her I wanted to do some laundry after my 'walk'." It should be ready and waiting when we get back."

"Have I ever told you that you're absolutely brilliant?" Bass asked reverently.

"I always just thought it went without saying," Charlie replied, her tone mockingly serious. "But you can tell me if it would make you feel better."

"I can think of a couple other things that would make me feel better," Bass murmured, his gaze intent on hers.

"Well, let's see what we can do about that," Charlie replied, a little breathless at the heat in his eyes, and tapped her horse into a canter, Bass right beside her.

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Charlie walked briskly up the front steps of the boarding house and slipped through the front door. "Hello, Mrs. Walsh," she said as she walked past the landlady and headed for the stairs.

"Miss King!"

Charlie turned to face the woman and raised her brows in silent inquiry.

Mrs. Walsh, who with her perfect profile and intricate twist of snow white hair resembled nothing so much as an aged cameo, approached her, a smile brightening her lined face. "I wanted to let you know that my grandson just finished refilling the tub for your laundry," she said cheerfully. "I left a roast beef sandwich and some cookies next to the bed."

"A _beef_ sandwhich?" Charlie asked, amazed. "I saw some jerky at the store but you have it fresh?"

"Oh, honey, this is cattle country," Mrs. Walsh chuckled. "Beef's not quite as common as it used to be but there are a few ranchers around here that still have a good amount of stock."

"Who could we go to for some fresh beef before we leave?" Charlie asked, her mouth almost watering at the thought. "It'd be a nice change from living off what we find."

"Merle Jacobs is coming in tomorrow with a delivery," Mrs. Walsh told her brightly. "I'll sell you some of what he brings me."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Walsh, thank you," Charlie said sincerely. "If it's not too much trouble."

"Not a bit," the landlady told her. "Now you go on up and enjoy your dinner. I'll see you tomorrow."

Charlie bolted up the stairs, sure that by now Bass must have snuck into the stable and taken care of his horse. She entered her room and went immediately to the rear-facing window, opened it, and leaned out, her eyes searching the darkness for Bass.

"Bass!" she whispered. "Bass!"

"Shhh!" he responded, creeping around the corner of the house to stand beneath the window. "I'm here! Drop the rope."

Charlie unfurled the rope and sent it down to him. Moments later it stretched taut and she watched as Bass made his way with impressive ease up the side of the house before hoisting himself through the window.

"Not bad," Charlie said admiringly as he dusted off his hands.

"Damn right," Bass retorted, taking in the room. "Hey, this is nice." He sauntered over to the bed and sat down, bouncing experimentally. "Yes, _very _nice," he said, grinning, and shot her a flirtatious wink.

"Smooth, Bass," Charlie drawled, a slight blush staining her cheeks. "I'm going to go let Mom know I'm back. The bath," she said, jerking her head towards a closed door, "is through there. I left the candles lit and there's a dry towel. Your sandwich is by the bed." Charlie moved towards the door and glanced back at him. "I'll be back in a bit."

Charlie walked into the hallway, pulled the door shut behind her and leaned against it when her legs suddenly went boneless. She exhaled deeply and pressed a hand to her stomach, where a flock of butterflies had suddenly taken up residence. It was going to happen, Charlie thought dimly. She was going to sleep with Bass tonight. She didn't know why she was so nervous. It wasn't like it was her first time. But, she admitted to herself, she somehow knew that being with Bass was going to be different. Better. And, if the kisses they had shared was anything to go by, a hell of a lot hotter. Suddenly the butterflies were gone and a wonderful tension took their place, her abdomen clenching in anticipation of his touch. Shaking herself out of her reverie, Charlie quickly locked the door, just in case Mrs. Walsh or her grandson tried to get in, and walked the few steps to her mother and Miles' room. She knocked briskly and the door opened almost immediately.

"Thank God," Rachel breathed. "I was getting worried."

"I'm fine," Charlie assured her quietly. "Sorry it took so long. Mrs. Walsh stopped me downstairs and offered to sell us some fresh beef when she gets hers delivered tomorrow."

"I hope you told her we'd take some!" Rachel declared. "My mouth is watering just thinking about it."

"Don't worry, I did," Charlie said, smiling.

Rachel reached out and put a hand on Charlie's shoulder, pulling her towards the doorway. "Come on in," she told her. "We probably shouldn't be having this conversation in the hallway."

Charlie walked past her mother and smiled over at Miles, who was looking incongruously content in an old rocking chair by their window.

"Settling in, Grandpa?" Charlie asked cheekily.

"Hey, don't knock it, kid," Miles replied good-naturedly. "Rocking chairs are one of the greatest inventions of western civilization."

"Anything going on out there?" Charlie asked, nodding towards the window.

"No," Miles told her, his eyes drifting back to the street outside. "Seems pretty quiet. A few people have walked by, but nothing that would make me suspicious. And the sections of Main Street that I can see are no different." He glanced over at her. "Did Bass make it in?"

"Yeah," Charlie replied calmly. "He's just getting cleaned up."

"I understand he won't be staying with Gene tonight."

"No," Charlie answered, tilting her chin defiantly. "He won't."

"Well, I'm gonna be honest with you, kid," Miles told her. "I'm not real happy about this situation."

"You don't have to be," Charlie told him. "I'm a grown woman and I can make –"

"Charlie, I know all that," Miles insisted. "And you're right. You are a grown woman. But that doesn't change the fact that you'll always be your mother's child. And I'll always remember you as the little girl with the tangled pigtails who would tackle me as soon as I walked through the door, getting melted Popsicle all over my face. Never mind the fact that Bass has enough issues to keep a psychiatrist occupied for a lifetime. I do, too. But I don't want you hurt. And I don't want you disrespected."

"Miles," Charlie sighed. "That's very sweet. And I understand what you're saying but –" She broke off and looked from Miles to her mother and back. "How is your situation much different from mine? And please," she added before he could speak, "don't say it's because I'm so much younger."

Miles clenched his jaw and stared out the window, a frown marring his face. "Alright," he ground out. "Maybe you have a point. Damn it."

"We trust you, Charlie," Rachel intoned quietly. "OK?"

"OK," Charlie replied and turned towards the door. "I'm gonna go. See you in the morning."

Rachel watched her daughter leave, gently closing the door behind her, and looked over at Miles. "I hate this."

"I know," he replied grimly. "For what it's worth, though, he really does care about her. He's not going to hurt her."

"I hope you're right."

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Charlie unlocked the door and quietly entered the bedroom, glancing around to look for Bass only to find an empty room. She closed the door behind her, relocking it, and walked towards the closed bathroom door. "Bass?" she called quietly. "Are you still in there?"

"Be right out," he answered. Charlie moved to make sure that the faded drapes were fully closed and to blow out all but two of the candles, throwing the room into flickering half-light. She knew that candlelight was supposed to be romantic, but, she thought to herself, only if it didn't look like a mini-forest fire had erupted. She heard the click of the bathroom door opening and turned to find Bass walking towards her, pants only partially done up and slung low on his hips, a towel draped over his shoulders to fall across his sinfully impressive torso.

"Hey," he said softly, solemnly, as he stopped in front of her, barely a handbreadth of space between them.

"Hey," she murmured back, reaching up to lightly grip the trailing ends of his towel. Bass slid his hands around her waist and skimmed under her top, smoothing up her back and snagging on her bra strap. Charlie leaned forward and pressed her face into the hollow of his throat, breathing in the scent of soap and man, that scent that was quintessentially Bass.

"You tired?" he asked as his hands trailed around her waist until the backs of his fingers brushed across her stomach. Her muscles tightened in reaction and she wound her arms around his neck.

"Nope," she whispered as she placed moist kisses down his throat and across his chest. Charlie felt his breath hitch and he slid a hand up her body, letting it trail between her breasts, up her throat and into her hair. Weaving his fingers in amongst the soft, curling strands, he gripped and pulled her head back, his lips sweeping down to claim hers in a burning kiss.

Charlie strained up against him, teeth nipping at his lips, tongue darting out to duel with his. In spite of her best efforts, however, Bass kept the kiss slow, languorous, even teasing. It was the kiss in the garage all over again, Charlie thought as she tried to press him harder.

"Slow down," Bass whispered, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down her throat. He nipped at her collarbone, his tongue darting out to soothe across her skin, and Charlie moaned as her head fell backwards, her long hair trailing down her back and brushing over his arm. "We've got all night."

Charlie cupped Bass' face in her hands and raised his head, hers lifting to return his lips to hers. The kiss was hungry, hot, and Charlie pushed herself up against him, angling her head to deepen the kiss. She pushed the towel from his shoulders and allowed her hands to wander down his chest, following the line of muscle along his sides until she felt the ridged muscles of his abdomen. Her fingers traced over them slowly, teasingly, and she felt a surge of triumph when they clenched in reaction. Bass stepped back just far enough to grip the hem of her shirt and slowly raised it until she emerged, now clad only in her pants and bra. When Charlie would have moved back into his arms, Bass' hands tightened on her waist and she looked up at him in confusion. What she saw took her breath away.

Bass' face was tight with agony as his eyes moved from one wound to the next, puckered cigarette burns scattered across her breasts and stomach, interspersed with thin, pink scars from Parker's knife. He raised trembling fingers to brush across them and Charlie could have wept at the pain she saw in his eyes. "Bass," she murmured as she raised a hand to his cheek. "Don't."

Bass tore his eyes from the evidence of her torment and looked at her with such anguish she almost cried out. "I . . . had almost forgotten how bad it was," he whispered hoarsely. "I haven't let myself think about it. But now-" He bent and Charlie felt his lips, light as a butterfly wing, touch each scar, both an apology and a benediction. She caressed his hair and bent to press a kiss to the crown of his head, but otherwise let him alone. She knew he needed this.

Bass straightened and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close until her nearly- naked flesh met his. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice low.

"Bass, listen to me," Charlie murmured. "It wasn't your fault." She drew back just enough to look up into his face and shook her head when he would have spoken. "No," she insisted. "It isn't. And I refuse to let Parker ruin something as beautiful as tonight. This is just us – just you and me."

Bass didn't speak, just studied her intently for a long moment, and then suddenly smiled softly. He began walking, pushing her gently backwards until her legs hit the bed. Bass hooked his arms under her bottom and pressed her back into the mattress, her legs lifting to cradle him as he settled his weight onto her. "Just you and me," he repeated quietly as he reached up to brush a lock of hair from her face. He leaned down slowly, his chest pressing heavily against her breasts, and kissed her.

**AN: So I promised you a long chapter and here it is – by far the longest one I've written at approximately 5400 words:)**** I think knowing tonight is the last episode of Revolution really prompted me to get something out with the goal of inspiring as many good Revolution/Charloe feels as possible. I hope that I succeeded. And I'm sorry if anyone is disappointed that I stopped where I did. I have nothing against smut and obviously I write scenes of an intimate nature, I'm just not comfortable writing full on sex scenes myself. I find stories with intimacy – both physical and emotional – to be very sexy and I hope you guys agree. Thank you so much for sticking with this story, for favoriting and following, and for leaving such amazing, supportive, sweet comments. You are all so fantastic and I'm truly touched by the encouragement that I've received from you, both for my writing and my schoolwork. I'd love to hear from you about this newest chapter and I promise that I'll get another chapter up as soon as I can. XOXOXOXO**


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Charlie's breath came in harsh gasps as her legs slid from around Bass' waist to fall limply to the mattress. Bass moved slowly, shifting his weight from her, and settled, completely spent, next to her, his hand reaching out to grip hers tightly. A fine sheen of perspiration covered Charlie's body and she shivered from a combination of a sudden chill and the lingering tremors of absolute physical repletion. She had been right, she thought dimly. It _was _different with Bass. All of the "encounters" she had experienced in the past had been just that – quick couplings that were totally lacking in emotion and had been completely impersonal. They were just two bodies coming together for quick bang, she and the guy she had hooked up with moving on as quickly as possible with barely a backwards glance. This time, though . . .

Bass turned to lie on his side and reached out, pulling Charlie flush against him, the heat pouring from his body warming her in seconds. She sighed and tucked her hands up between them, allowing her fingers to gently play with the hair sprinkled across his chest, one leg sliding up to rest across his hip. Bass lowered his head and buried his lips against her breasts and Charlie shivered again as the scruff on his cheeks and chin abraded her sensitized flesh in the most delicious way.

"I know you said you were going shock me, Charlotte, but did you have to almost kill me?"

Charlie chuckled as she nuzzled even closer to him. "It was only fair," she murmured as she lowered her head to press her lips against his damp hair. "You just about drove me out of my mind. I had to do _something_ to even things out."

"Hmmmm," he murmured and Charlie felt his lips shift into a smile as he moved up to press them against her throat. "Told you I was going to take my time."

"Then I guess we both got what we wanted," Charlie said, her kiss-swollen lips curving into a smile.

Bass caressed her cheek softly, his eyes moving over her face with aching tenderness. "Yeah," he whispered. "And a hell of a lot more."

Charlie gazed up at Bass, her smile disappearing as she slowly stretched to gently press her lips against his. Bass' hand slid into her hair, shifting the angle of her head to deepen the kiss as his tongue darted past her teeth to explore the moist heat of her mouth. Charlie groaned, a low, drugged sound, and brought her hands to his shoulders, pushing him to his back as she moved to straddle him, her thighs gripping his hips as she reached to link her fingers with his, pressing their joined hands to the mattress on either side of his head. Her long hair tumbled over her shoulders, a fragrant blonde curtain spilling around them to dance bewitchingly against Bass' shoulders. He broke the kiss to trail his lips along her jaw, his breath harsh in his throat as he tried to regain some level of control. "God, Charlotte, you make me crazy," he whispered as he nibbled down the side of her neck.

Charlie laughed breathlessly and leaned down to rest her head against his shoulder, his hands slipping from hers as he moved to trail his fingers up and down her back. "Why do you do that?" she asked drowsily.

"Do what?"

"Call me 'Charlotte'. You didn't used to."

"Probably for the same reason you stopped calling me 'Monroe'," he replied slowly. "'Charlie' was rough, hard, closed off and, to be completely honest, a total pain in my ass." He yelped when she pinched the skin over his ribs and he retaliated by gently digging his fingers into a fascinatingly ticklish spot over her hip that he had so pleasantly discovered earlier in the evening. Charlie squirmed, laughing helplessly until Bass took pity on her and went back to simply holding her. "Charlotte, on the other hand," he continued as if there had been no interruption, "is strong, resilient, stubborn, and incredibly sexy. And is a person I don't want to imagine my life without."

Charlie slowly raised herself to look down at him, her eyes moving rapidly, taking in every feature, every shift of expression. "Bass," she murmured, her voice hitching with emotion.

"You deserve to hear this," he said simply. "You've changed me, Charlotte. Knowing you, being with you, makes me want to be . . . more. No matter what happens, I want you to know that."

"_Nothing_ is going to happen," Charlie rasped, her arms tightening around him. "We're going to get the hell out of Texas and go someplace where no one will know you or Miles or even care about the Monroe Republic."

"I know we are, baby," Bass said soothingly, lifting his head from the pillow to press a quick peck against her lips. "But," he added, steel creeping into his voice, "only after I've taken care of Parker and Mason."

Charlie paled and shook her head frantically. "No," she said harshly, hating herself for the tremble she heard in her voice. "I don't want you anywhere near them!"

"Charlotte, there is no way that I'm leaving Texas without dealing with those two fuckers," Bass told her, his eyes hard. "Do you honestly think that after what they did to you, after . . . Connor," his voice faltered for a moment, eyes closing briefly in an intense flash of pain, "that I could just leave without getting some justice?"

The silence stretched between them, Charlie pale and tense, Bass resolute, both understanding what the other was saying but neither willing to concede the point. Finally, Charlie spoke. "No," she murmured in answer to his question. "You couldn't. And neither could I. But I can't forget what they did to me and why they did it. Please," she added quickly, "_do not_ apologize again."

Bass' lips had gone tight when she had mentioned how she had suffered at the Patriots' hands but he forced himself to relax at her gentle admonition. "Wasn't going to," he replied. When Charlie's eyebrows rose in a combination of surprise and doubt, he did his best to smile but it came out as more of a grimace. "What happened to you . . . it's on them. Not me."

"You really believe that?" Charlie asked doubtfully. "Promise?"

"I promise I'm getting there," Bass replied honestly. "There's never going to be a time when I don't feel responsible for your safety, baby, and, yes," he added immediately when he saw the beginnings of a frown, "I know that you can take care of yourself. What the Patriots did", he continued, "they were trying to get to me not for what I'd done as President but for the lies they wanted to pin on me."

"I'm glad you've realized that," Charlie said fervently as she played with the curls at his temple. "And when we find them –"

"We?" Bass asked abruptly, his eyes narrowing up at her.

"Oh, please, let's not have this discussion again," Charlie insisted with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

"I just didn't think you'd want to be anywhere near those sons of bitches," Bass replied soothingly. "That's all."

"I don't," she told him, her voice tight with remembered pain. "But I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hiding, either. When we find them, I want them to see that they didn't break me." Her eyes were unseeing as she turned inwards and Bass saw her lose herself in the past.

"Hey," he murmured as his hands moved softly up her back to hook around her shoulders. He shook her lightly and her eyes shot down to his, pupils blown wide as she tried to rid herself of the terrible memories that gripped her. "They can't get at you now, Charlotte," he promised her. "They'll never touch you again, I swear."

Charlie nodded and gave a slight shrug. "It's just not easy to get rid of those memories, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," he answered gently.

Charlie stared down at him before lowering her head to nestle it on his shoulder as his arms tightened around her. Bass shifted them back to their sides and pulled her close against him, their bodies melded from their shoulders to their knees. Charlie felt his legs moving and then he reached down, snagging the blanket and pulling it over their cooling bodies. "Try to sleep, baby," he whispered as they snuggled together under the light cover. "I'll wake you before I leave."

Charlie's eyes snapped open and she leaned back to study him in the darkness. "How long do we have?" she asked.

"Days are getting shorter," Bass mused as he occupied himself by playing with the lock of her hair that had curled itself around his wrist. "I'd say we have six, maybe seven hours before the sun starts to come up. Which means I have to get out of here in five."

"In that case," Charlie murmured as her hand started to drift down his body, "I can think of better things to do with our time."

Bass' chuckle quickly turned into a groan and soon all thoughts of time, of Patriots, of anything that existed outside of that room were rapidly forgotten.

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Bass stirred, his eyelids flickering as he woke from a surprisingly deep sleep. He wrapped his arms more securely around a slumbering Charlotte and glanced about the still-dark room, confident that he still had enough time to clean himself up and get out of town before the sun rose. Suddenly he jerked up onto an elbow, eyes wide with incredulity. "_Shit!_" he hissed, flopping onto his back and covering his eyes with his forearm. The movement woke Charlie and she stirred against him.

"Bass?" she murmured in a sleep-rough voice. "What's wrong?"

"We slept in," he groaned. "I can see the sun under the bottom of the curtains."

"What?" Charlie gasped and shot upright. "How are we going to get you out?"

Bass dropped his arm from across his eyes and was met with the sight of the naked smoothness of Charlie's back before him. "Don't worry," he assured her as he swept his fingers up and down the ridge of her spine. "We'll figure something out. It'll be more difficult to sneak out in broad daylight but it's not impossible."

Charlie looked back at him, her chin dropping to rest on her shoulder, and smiled mischievously. "Guess we shouldn't have gone for round three," she said with false remorse.

Before Bass could formulate a proper response, a soft, rapid knock sounded on the door and they both went deathly still.

"Miss King!" a disembodied voice whispered loudly from the other side of the door.

"It's Mrs. Walsh, the landlady," Charlie murmured as she hurriedly threw on her clothes. "Quick, hide in the bathroom and I'll get rid of her." Bass grabbed his clothes and made his way quickly to the bathroom. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Charlie took a deep, calming breath, unlocked the door, and partially opened it, her face a mask of mild surprise and inquiry.

"Mrs. Walsh, hello," she said brightly as she maneuvered her body to block . "It's awfully early, is everything alright?"

"Miss King," Mrs. Walsh said urgently as she pushed past an astonished Charlie into the bedroom. "Please, I must speak with you." The woman's gentle face was pale and her hands twisted together in agitation. "Do you remember the man I mentioned last night, Merle Jacobson?"

"Yes," Charlie replied slowly as she closed the door and walked towards Mrs. Walsh. "What about him?"

"He made his delivery this morning. The way he was talking, it'll be the last one for a while. A group of military types rode onto his land yesterday and said they were 'requisitioning' his cattle. A couple of them rode with him into town this morning, handing out bounty papers." Charlie felt herself go cold as she watched Mrs. Walsh seemingly move in slow motion, her hand dipping into one her apron pockets and emerging with a folded piece of thick paper. She unfolded it and handed it over to Charlie. "They're looking for several people, Miss King," she said quietly. "One of them looks remarkably like you."

Charlie slowly lowered her eyes to the paper that she held and her breath rushed out of her as she looked at a very accurate drawing of her own face. "Yes," she finally said with forced nonchalance. "It's a remarkable coincidence, isn't it?"

"I would have thought that, too, but the other wanted posters were for the others, your family." Mrs. Walsh walked towards Charlie, her eyes intent on the younger girl. "I don't hold with criminals, Miss King or Miss Matheson or whatever you name is. But," she hastened to add when Charlie would have spoken, "Merle was as shaken as I've ever seen him. These soldiers – Patriots, they call themselves – they've got him good and scared. Cold as ice, he said, and always muttering amongst themselves. Paranoid. Talking about being the U.S. government," she scoffed, shaking her head. "Marching in, acting like the world is theirs for the taking, stealing the livelihood that a man's spent most of his life holding onto by the tips of his fingers. That kind of thing doesn't fly in Texas. So I figured that anyone they're after has to be on the side of the angels."

"Maybe not the angels," Charlie replied wryly, finding herself able to joke now that she knew that Mrs. Walsh wasn't going to turn them in. "But as close as we can get." She glanced back down at the wanted poster and absently chewed her lip. "Is Merle still here?" she asked, glancing up to see Mrs. Walsh shake her head.

"No, he had to take a delivery to the café but I can send my grandson Peter to flag him down."

"I'd really appreciate it," Charlie told her. "Maybe just say that you need to see him about the delivery. Something's wrong with it. Would that get him back here?"

"It should," Mrs. Walsh replied stoutly. "Merle prides himself on his beef. But what do you want him for?"

"We need information, Mrs. Walsh, and it sounds like Merle is the best person to give it to us."

"I'll send Peter now," the old woman said as she moved towards the door and turned to look at Charlotte before she left. "You'd better stay out of sight. I'll bring some food up for you . . . and your guest." She smiled widely at the look of astonishment on Charlie's face and quietly closed the door behind her.

Charlie shook her head, shocked and more than a little disconcerted at the woman's perceptiveness, and turned when she heard the bathroom door open and watched as Bass padded towards her on bare feet. "How much did you hear?" she asked, holding out the wanted poster for his inspection.

"Enough," Bass replied coolly as he plucked the paper from her grasp. "Bastards are efficient, I'll give them that," he said as he studied the picture. He looked over at her, his expression grim. "Two weeks and they've already got posters out for us." He huffed out a breath and gestured towards the door. "Time to wake up the troops."

"I'll get them and bring them back here," Charlie volunteered. "Now that we know the Patriots are nearby, you need to keep completely out of sight."

"So do you," he retorted, holding up the poster as a reminder. "We _all_ need to lay low until we find out what the hell is going on."

"I'll be quick," Charlie promised as she stepped partially into the hallway. "Be back in a second." She closed the door behind her and Bass looked back down at the poster, rage that he had so far concealed darkening his face. He was going to keep his promise to Charlie. The Patriots weren't going to get anywhere near her. And if he had to bring back a little bit of President Monroe to make sure of it, he had no problem with that.

BCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBBBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBCBC

Charlie hurried down the hallway and knocked rapidly on the door. It opened almost immediately, revealing a concerned Miles. "Charlie, what is it?" he asked as she brushed past him. Rachel was standing in front of a small mirror, tying her hair into a ponytail. She turned to watch her daughter, brows lowered in consternation. "What's wrong?"

"Mrs. Walsh just came to see me. She said Merle Jacobson, the guy who brought her beef order this morning, told her about a group of soldiers that rode onto his place yesterday and requisitioned his cattle. They were also handing out wanted posters. For us."

"And she warned you?" Rachel asked incredulously. "Why didn't she turn us in?"

"Apparently the way the Patriots are acting doesn't go over too well with Mrs. Walsh or her friends," Charlie told him, a ghost of a smile flashing across her face. "The idea is that if the Patriots are hunting us down, we must be in the right."

"Well," Miles said pensively as he scratched the side of his nose, "not the best logic I've ever heard but I'll take it." He walked over to the bedside table, grabbing his bag along the way, and starting shoving things back into it.

"Mrs. Walsh sent her grandson to bring Jacobson back here so we can ask him a few questions. She'll be bringing him up to my room, so we should head back over there."

"I'll get Dad," Rachel said as she grabbed her jacket. "Miles, you should take our things to Charlie's room. If this goes bad, we need to be ready to go."

"Already on it," Miles told her, shouldering their bags. "C'mon, kid."

Charlie quickly led Miles down the hallway and unlocked the door to her room, ushering him inside. Her eyes swept the room for Bass and she smothered a smile when she noticed that he had returned the bed to its former pristine condition. Say what you will about Sebastian Monroe, she thought wryly, but he never missed a detail.

Bass turned from where he was standing by the back window, the curtain pulled back slightly to allow early morning light to stream through and illuminate the wanted poster he had continued to study. "Looks like we're in deep shit again, brother," he said as he crossed the room to show Miles the paper.

Miles took the paper and cursed when he saw his niece's likeness peering back up at him. "How the hell'd they get these out so fast?" he mused rhetorically. "They sure don't waste time."

A soft knock echoed, prompting Miles and Bass to take up position on either side of the doorway, guns at the ready. Bass gave Charlie a nod and she cracked open the door to see her mother and grandfather standing in the hall. She nodded at Bass and Miles, who immediately stood down, and quickly swung the door open all the way, gesturing for Rachel and Gene to come inside.

"When are we getting out of here?" Gene asked urgently. "I mean, if they're handing out posters we certainly can't stay. So what's the plan?"

"The plan," Bass said calmly, "is to wait for the landlady to bring her cowboy friend to see us so that he can tell us a little bit about his unexpected guests."

"You mean we're just going to wait here? Someone's going to recognize us from those posters! Maybe they have already and the Patriots are on their way!"

"Gene, for God's sake, don't panic!" Miles snapped. "We don't know shit yet; we're not going to go out there blind. And it's not exactly easy to slip out of town unnoticed when it's broad daylight. So just relax and don't borrow trouble."

"Don't borrow –" Gene broke off, incredulous, and turned to his daughter. "Rachel, do you agree with this?"

Rachel paused for a moment and then nodded. "I do, Dad," she said quietly. "We have to see what we can find out and not take any unnecessary risks. Trying to make a run for it now would be too dangerous." Rachel placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "It'll be alright, Dad."

Gene just shook his head and began pacing the length of the room. Miles and Bass exchanged exasperated looks but, for the sake of their own sanity, remained silent. Charlie stepped up to Bass' side, her shoulder brushing his, and his arm wrapped across her back, his hand resting low on her hip. She leaned into his side as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, uncaring if their display of affection upset the others. Rachel turned away from the couple and moved to the front-facing window, peeling back the curtain to peer outside. Her sharp eyes caught sight of two figures approaching the house in a horse-drawn wagon – a teenaged boy and an older man. It was difficult to determine his age as his skin was weather-beaten from years in the sun and it was obvious from the way he handled his team that he was as comfortable handling the horses as he was walking. "I think they're here," she announced to the room as the wagon stopped in front of the house. She lost sight of them as they entered the house and turned, pulling her sidearm as she did. Miles, Bass, and Charlie followed suit and arranged themselves around the doorway, every angle covered, though they kept their weapons lowered.

When the knock finally came, Miles nodded at Charlie to open the door; Mrs. Walsh and the older man from the wagon stepped into the room and Charlie closed it immediately behind them.

"Shit, you're the people from the posters!" Jacobson exclaimed, his shock evident. "Emmaline, what the hell is going on?" he asked as he turned to Mrs. Walsh.

"They need some answers about the people out at your ranch, Merle," she replied calmly. "And I needed to get you here without the whole town knowing something dodgy was going on."

"Damn it, woman, you made me think something was wrong with my beef!" he groused, genuinely insulted. "And now that blabbermouth over at the café thinks I cheated you out of what you paid for! If you'd just told me –"

"I'm sorry, but can we get back on track here?" Bass interjected, amused in spite of himself.

Jacobson turned to face him and his eyes widened. "You're . . . you're Sebastian Monroe," he gasped. "I saw you in one of their posters." Mrs. Walsh gasped, her eyes wide as she stared at Bass.

"Sebastian Monroe was executed in Willoughby months ago," Gene immediately replied.

"Then how did that man's face show up on their wanted poster with the name 'Sebastian Monroe' printed under it, big as life?" Jacobson asked as he edged towards the door.

"Look, I don't know," Gene replied wearily. "But Monroe is dead, I assure you. I was the one who gave him the lethal injection." Jacobson blinked in obvious astonishment and his eyes darted between Gene and Monroe, the latter of whom was taking in this little drama quite calmly, a look of bored amusement on his face.

"Mr. Jacobson," Bass drawled, "you're an intelligent man. Certainly intelligent enough to be suspicious of the Patriots and you've only been around them less than twenty-four hours. This isn't our first run-in with them. In fact, we were the leaders of a little underground movement against them in Willoughby. It's why they're looking for us and they probably think the fastest way to get hold of us is to claim that one of us is Sebastian Monroe, everyone's favorite boogeyman. The Patriots are liars and manipulators. You've seen that first hand on your ranch. You already know that you can't trust a damn thing they say."

"If you aren't Monroe," Mrs. Walsh said slowly, "then why didn't you check in with the rest of them last night? Why sneak in as if you didn't want anyone to know you were here?"

"I was hunting away from the group yesterday," Bass said immediately, his demeanor completely relaxed. "I got turned around and didn't find my way into town until very late last night. I knew that they'd find the closest boarding house they could so I checked every stable and garage within two blocks of Main Street until I found their horses. I saw Charlotte standing in her window and didn't want to wake the whole house by banging on the front door so I tossed a couple pebbles at the glass until I caught her attention and she lowered the rope for me. Simple as that."

"So if you don't answer to Sebastian Monroe, what's your name?" the older woman asked, her tone slightly less suspicious.

"James King."

Mrs. Walsh's eyes narrowed on his face and Charlotte felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. "That's the name she gave when they arrived," the landlady said, nodding at Charlie. "The _fake_ name. How do you explain that?"

"Easily enough," Bass said, smiling, and walked to stand next to Charlie. "The Patriots used her _maiden_ name, which was Matheson. They didn't know she's my wife." The floor seemed to shift under Charlie's feet and she blinked in astonishment, but otherwise gave no outward indication of her shock at Bass' unexpected announcement of their fictional marriage.

Fortunately Jacobson and Mrs. Walsh were watching Charlie and Bass intently or they would have seen the various looks of horror, incredulity, and grudging amusement – the last, of course, belonging to Miles – that flickered over the faces of Charlie's family before they were able to school their features.

Mrs. Walsh was still watching Bass as if he were a snake waiting to strike and Rachel decided that she'd had enough. "Mrs. Walsh," she said quietly. "I'm sure you've realized that we are not Mr. and Mrs. Meeks or Mr. Jeffers."

"That did cross my mind when I saw the wanted posters," the woman admitted sardonically.

Rachel nodded, conceding the somewhat obvious nature of her question. "So you know that I'm Rachel Matheson. Is that name familiar to either one of you?"

"Seems I've heard it before," Jacobson said, scratching his chin. "You were married to, well, hell, to your brother," he exclaimed, gesturing at Miles, who grimaced slightly in acknowledgement. "General Miles Matheson," Jacobson said pensively. "You tried to kill Monroe, didn't you?"

"Couple of times," Miles answered blandly. "We had a bit of a falling out."

"Yeah," Jacobson hooted, "I guess you could call it that. And I recall hearing that General Matheson's nephew was killed by Militia. That right?"

Charlie felt Bass' fingers clench convulsively around hers at the mention of her brother and she gently squeezed back, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand as she fought against her own sadness and, even more, a growing sense of panic that things might not work out as well as they had hoped.

"Daniel was my son," Rachel replied, her voice tinged with quiet sadness. "I also lost my husband. And I was held captive in Philadelphia by Monroe for almost ten years. So why," she asked simply, "would a woman who has so many reason to hate Sebastian Monroe allow her daughter to marry him?"

Silence filled the room at Rachel's last question, Jacobson and Mrs. Walsh exchanging glances riddled with uncertainty.

"I hope we've answered your questions to your satisfaction, Mr. Jacobson, Mrs. Walsh," Bass finally said, his tone carefully cordial. "And now, if you don't mind, we have a few questions for you."

Jacobson frowned at Monroe and Charlie could practically see the cogs whirling in his head. "Aw, hell," he finally said, "why not? I've heard stranger stories and this one actually makes sense. No way would this lady let her girl marry Monroe. Just wouldn't add up, Emmaline. Quite frankly, I'm glad to get any help I can. Those Patriots are a bunch of creepy fucks – begging your pardon, Emmaline – and I want them off my land. Alright, mister, what do you want to know."

Charlie felt the tension bleed out of her body and she was finally able to take a deep breath. She looked up at Bass and saw the same relief in his eyes, though his expression remained the same. "How many are there?" he asked immediately.

"There were fifteen when they rode in yesterday," Jacobson readily replied. "But they sent five off this morning with most of my herd. Damn greenhorns," he muttered darkly. "It'll be a miracle straight from God if those fuckers – begging your pardon, Emmaline – get my cattle to wherever it is they're going alive." He glared at Bass and Miles, his bushy brows almost meeting in the middle with the intensity of his frown. "You'll help me get them back, right? Since I'm helping you?"

Miles and Bass traded resigned glances and Miles sighed. "Yeah," he said. "We'll help you get them back. _If_ your information is helpful."

"So there are ten left at your ranch," Bass said. "Any officers?"

"Two," Jacobson told them. "One of 'em is creepy as all get out. Real polite but makes you feel like he'd as soon stick a knife in your ribs as look at you. He's the kind of guy that has someone tied up in the root cellar, you know what I mean?"

Every muscle in Charlie's body went rigid and her breath started to feel labored as her vision tunneled and narrowed to focus just on Merle Jacobson's face. "Their names," she rasped. "What are the officers' names?"

Jacobson scratched his chin again, eyes narrowed in thought. "First one's . . . Miller? No. Martin? Mason! His name is Mason. And the root cellar guy, he's . . . damn it, what did he say his name was?"

"Parker."

"That's it!" Jacobson declared jubilantly, turning towards Bass. His excitement faded as he glanced from face to face, a chill running down his spine at the looks of pure murder that he saw on the faces of Miles Matheson and James King. "You know these guys?" he asked tentatively.

"Yeah," Bass growled, feeling bursts of pure rage pulse through his body. "We know them."

**AN: So this chapter completely took me by surprise but I was doing MAJOR procrastinating today and it just kind of wrote itself. I have a bunch of work to do over this weekend and early next week so I won't get another chapter posted before Wednesday, but I hope this tides you over. Thank you so much for the incredible comments/reviews. You all inspire me to write every time I see a message in my inbox. You're amazing! As always, comments are most welcome and I hope to hear from you about this newest update! XOXO**


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Charlie reeled at the realization that Parker and Mason were so close, that she and those she loved could be in their power with absolutely no warning. Though her emotions were churning, she forced herself to remain calm but she could tell that she wasn't fooling anyone, especially Bass. He kept glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, his gaze raking over her almost-unnaturally white face. Charlie forced herself to squeeze his hand, a weak gesture of reassurance to be sure, but it was all she could trust herself to do.

"We need to talk to those two officers, Mr. Jacobson," Miles was saying as Charlie managed to refocus on the conversation. "Is there any way to get to your ranch that doesn't put us right out in the open?"

Jacobson scratched his head, brow furrowed in thought. "Nope," he finally replied regretfully. "Open range as far as they eye can see."

"What about the church, Merle?" Mrs. Walsh interjected, her eyes bright with excitement. "It's within sight of your ranch. They could use the bell tower to get a lay of the land and hide out there until dark. They could get to the ranch on foot. Wouldn't have to worry about their horses giving them away as they came in."

Jacobson looked down at Mrs. Walsh in amazement. "Well, damn it all, Emmaline, that's bordering on genius right there!" He laughed and slapped a broad hand against his thigh. "Why the hell didn't I think of that? And the best part is that Father Velez is out on the circuit. Shouldn't be back until next week." Jacobson turned to Bass and Miles, a devilish grin on his face. "We could have run into some trouble with the good padre," he admitted. "Being a priest and all, he don't hold too much with violence. He'd'a welcomed you for prayer, no doubt, but staking out my ranch would have been a different thing all together."

"Perfect timing makes me nervous," Bass replied. "But for these two, I'm willing to take the risk. I'll want to get to the church as soon as possible so we can see what we're dealing with. How do you suggest we get there, Mr. Jacobson? Or maybe I should be asking Mrs. Walsh."

"Cocky bastard, aren't ya?" Jacobson asked good-naturedly. "I gotta go back to the ranch and pick up the milk order. Couldn't fit everything into the wagon on this run. Usually cover the milk containers with tarp, try to keep some of the heat out. I'll hide you under them on my way back home."

"Will we all fit?" Charlie asked unexpectedly, almost surprised at the sound of her own voice.

"Nope," Jacobson answered immediately. "Two, maybe three at a time is all the wagon will hold."

"Miles and I are going tonight," Bass said immediately. "The rest of you can sit tight here."

"Like hell," Charlie interjected. "Mr. Jacobson said the wagon will hold three. I'm going with you."

Miles, Bass and Gene exchanged worried glances while Bass turned slightly to look at Charlie, a slight frown of concern marring his brow. She looked back at him in silence, her back ramrod straight in spite of the deathly pallor of her face.

"Charlie," Rachel said softly, "maybe it would be better if Miles and James –"

"She'll be fine," Bass interrupted, his eyes never leaving Charlie's face. "And if anyone should be there, it's Charlotte." Charlie held his gaze, a slight smile curving her lips.

"Charlie, you're still recovering," Gene warned, his concern evident. "Physically and mentally. I don't think it would be a good idea for you to put yourself in this situation."

"Maybe we should leave you folks to talk in private," Mrs. Walsh volunteered, hooking a hand around Merle Jacobson's arm.

"Damn it, Emmalie," he groused in a harsh whisper as he tried to shake her off. "They'll let us know if they want us to leave. 'Sides, it sounds like they're getting to the good stuff."

Miles swiveled his head to glare at the two. "Stay put," he barked and, suddenly remembering what his family owed to these people, added a much gentler, "please." Mrs. Walsh and Jacobson fell silent, retreating a few steps from the group to give them a little privacy.

Charlie finally turned from Bass and looked at her family, finding it impossible to be angry at them when they were obviously so worried about her. OK, not angry but definitely a little annoyed.

"Guys, I love you for caring but I'm going. This is something I have to do. So please don't try to stop me."

Bass glanced over at Miles, who immediately rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. "Fine," he barked. "You're coming. Shit."

"When should we be ready for you, Mr. Jacobson?" Bass asked as he turned towards Jacobson and Mrs. Walsh, gesturing for the two to join them.

"Take me about an hour to get home, then I gotta load up the milk cans, get back to town, make my deliveries. I'll make sure this is the last stop. I'd say you got a good five hours."

Miles nodded briskly. "Fine. So how do we get into the wagon without anyone seeing us?"

"Merle makes the deliveries around back at the old root cellar," Mrs. Walsh informed them. "It's right under the house, stays cool in the summer. You should be able to get to the wagon from the cellar without being noticed."

"Make sure you bring food and water," Merle warned as he started towards the door. "You'll be up there for a while. Come on, Emmaline, let's leave these folks to make their plans."

Mrs. Walsh turned back at the door and looked them over. "I'll bring you folks something to eat while you wait," she promised. "You have to be starving."

"Thank you," Charlie said sincerely. "Thank you both for everything."

Mrs. Walsh moved as though to speak but was cut off by Merle, who chortled and waved off her thanks. "Hell, ma'am, this is shapin' up to be the most fun I've had in years. Let's go, Emmaline." Rolling her eyes, Mrs. Walsh followed him into the hallway and quietly shut the door behind them.

Charlie turned away and went to stand by the rear-facing window, propping her shoulder against the window frame and staring down at the alley through the sheer curtains. Bass watched her for a moment and then looked at Miles, silently jerking his head towards the door. Miles glowered at him, glancing over at his niece, then nodded stiffly. Placing a firm hand on Rachel's shoulder, he steered her towards the door, Gene following close behind. Bass waited until he heard the quiet click of the door closing behind them before he joined Charlie at the window.

"You OK?" he asked as he stood on the other side of the window.

"I will be," Charlie told him. "It's just . . . going to be hard to see them again. Especially him."

"I know. But I promised you that he'd never touch you again and I meant it," Bass assured her.

"I'm not worried about that," Charlie told him as she turned to face him. "I'm afraid of what I'll do to Parker when I'm finally face to face with him."

Bass cocked an eyebrow but otherwise didn't react. "And what's that?"

"I want him dead," Charlie replied flatly. "Him and Mason both. For what they did to me. For Connor. And for what they want to do to you."

"Charlotte, that's a pretty natural way to feel," Bass assured her. "And believe me, it's going to happen."

Charlie shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself, turning from Bass to stare out the window again. "It is natural to want them to suffer? Is it natural to want them to scream the way they made me scream? I don't know how to deal with this, Bass," she said almost desperately. "I have no problem killing to defend myself or my family. But this need I have to –"

Bass crossed over to Charlie and cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look up at him. He felt his heart clench at the tears he saw glistening in her eyes, tears that she stubbornly managed to keep in check. "You don't have to deal with it, baby," he said roughly. "Those feelings are completely normal and understandable. But I don't want you to worry about them because they will fade. Once those two sons of bitches are dead, you can start really putting what they did behind you. And anything that happens to Parker and Mason, Miles and I are going to do it. None of this will be on you."

"I want to be there when you talk to them," Charlie insisted, her hands coming up to grip his wrists. "I want them to see me and know that they don't have any power over me anymore. "

"Fine," Bass immediately agreed, knowing how important it was to her. "But," he added, "when Miles and I tell you to leave, you go. There are some things that . . . you just don't need to see."

Charlie's eyes widened and her hands tightened on his wrists. "I hate that I'm asking you to do this," she murmured as she looked up at him. "This is a part of yourself that . . . you had put away."

Bass smiled grimly and shook his head as his thumbs gently brushed across her cheeks. "Charlotte, I wasn't lying when I told you that you've changed me. But there is nothing that I'm not willing to do to make sure you're safe. If I have to resurrect President Monroe for a little while, that's just fine with me because I know you're here to bring me back to reality."

"Always," Charlie assured him quietly.

Bass leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead, pulling away to wrap an arm around her shoulders. "Let's get some stuff together for tonight, we'll have a bite to eat when Mrs. Walsh brings our food up, and then we'll catch some sleep. It's going to be a long night tonight. And not," he added mischievously, "in a fun way."

Charlie chuckled as she leaned into his side and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You better get all those comments out now," she warned him. "If Miles hears you talking like that, you might not make it out of the church alive."

"Oh, I'm shaking," Bass teased as he bent to grab one of his bags. "Better go through your bag and get out what you'll need. Just the bare essentials, alright?"

"Bass, I've been traveling across the country with a backpack. I don't think the essentials get more bare than that."

Bass rolled his eyes and grinned over at her. "Don't be such a girl, Charlotte," he scoffed and dodged when she threw a pillow at his face. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry!" he declared cheekily. "Weapon, ammo, food, water. I'll clear out this bag and we'll combine everything in here, OK?"

"OK," Charlie agreed. "We can put your extra stuff in my bag."

Bass nodded distractedly as he pawed through his rucksack and cursed under his breath. "Charlotte, would you do me a favor and go look in my other bag? I must have left the spare clip for my .45 in there."

Charlie crossed back to the window and knelt to rifle through the bag. She pulled out a shirt and went to set it aside when something dropped out and landed with a soft "ping" on the floor. She bent to pick it up and started when she saw two thin, silver rectangles hanging from a chain, accompanied by three gold bands, one of which was set with a diamond. "Bass," she said hesitantly. He turned and went still when he saw what she was holding.

"These . . . just fell out," Charlie hastened to explain, feeling as though she had stumbled upon something deeply private. "I didn't –"

"It's alright," Bass hastened to assure her as he crossed to kneel next to her. He reached out and lightly touched the dog tags and the rings that rested against them. "I've kept them hidden since the Republic fell," he said quietly. "I just couldn't bring myself to get rid of my old dogtags. They reminded me of . . . who I used to be, I guess."

"And the rings?" Charlie asked almost reluctantly.

"My parents'," Bass answered immediately, a shadow of remembered pain briefly darkening his face. "They're all I have left that belonged to them."

"They're beautiful," Charlie murmured.

"Yeah," Bass agreed quietly. "Having them made me feel like I still had a little piece of them with me, you know?"

"I'm glad you have them," Charlie told him as she reached out to grasp his hand in hers.

"Me, too," Bass replied, returning the pressure of her hand on his. "In more ways than one."

Charlie's hand jerked in his and she stared at him, her eyes huge in her face, as she struggled to understand just exactly what it was he had just said. Bass merely stared back at her before reaching out and taking the dogtags and rings from her suddenly limp fingers to tuck them back into the safety of his bag.

"I think I hear Mrs. Walsh coming up the stairs," he said casually as he pulled Charlie to her feet. "We'll eat, finish sorting our things, and then catch a bit of sleep."

Charlie watched Bass cross the room to open the door for Mrs. Walsh and wondered, in all honestly, how she could possibly sleep after what he had just said.

**AN: I'm sorry I haven't updated in so long. The term is coming to a close and I completely overestimated the amount of time I'd have to work on this fic, which is also why this update is so short. But I wanted to get something up for you guys. Please excuse any mistakes. I was anxious to get this posted and will try to catch any typos, etc. when I have a change to read it through again. You have just been so amazing with your reviews and private messages that I couldn't leave you waiting any longer and got this up as soon as I finished writing it. I hope it was worth the wait! I probably won't be able to post again for another couple of weeks – I have a huge paper due and am nowhere near ready to write it. Thank you so much for your patience, for sticking with me and my story, for reading, reviewing, bookmarking, for EVERYTHING. You all are truly the best and I can't tell you how much I appreciate your interest and support. As always, reviews are most welcome. I'd love to hear from you! XOXO**


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